I appear to have conjured the spirit of a banker
by UselessWreckage
Summary: While getting a little bit tipsy with Freya, Merlin performs a spell to discover the identity of his one true love. He is a bit disappointed. Sure, Arthur is gorgeous, but he is also difficult, grumpy, apparently straight, and not easily impressed by magic tricks. Here, have some silly modern AU Merthur. (Title is a quote from Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell.)
1. Chapter 1

The floor was actually quite comfortable. In a sober state, Merlin would probably not have let his face go anywhere near the old carpet, knowing all the odd things that he and Freya and a multitude of their friends had spilled on that floor and never properly cleaned out. But he was not sober right now, and he was literally rolling on the ground with laughter.

"You said _what_?"

"I told him to do it," Freya repeated, even though it was pretty clear from his reaction that he'd heard her perfectly the first time around. He sat up for a moment and looked at her, catching his breath, but then he cracked up again and rolled onto his back, cackling.

"And he believed you!"

"One hundred percent. Gave me a nice tip as well."

"You're evil," he asserted with a grin, arduously climbing back onto the sofa, still shaking with giggles.

It was not an impressive climb; the old thing was worn, like most things in the flat, and had collapsed quite thoroughly, making the massive amount of pillows the main difference between sitting in it and sitting on the floor. Merlin carelessly swung his wineglass from the table beside him and took another hearty sip.

"It's good, this," he said.

"Yes, it is, I told you," she said overbearingly, "And I'm not _evil_, I resent that." She didn't look particularly resentful, more proud to have caused such great amusement.

"When you know that sort of thing about people, it's damn hard not to try and punish them a little."

What had caused the massive laughing fit was a tale from Freya's day at work as a fortune teller. She worked both over the phone and face to face at fairs, but she was not your ordinary quack. Actual ability for magic was the very thing that had brought the two together. That was not to say that she gave true predictions all the time. She tended to reveal the sweet parts and carefully and vaguely warn against the sour, but she knew better than to let on all she knew. And some times, like today, she had people ask her for advice who did not realise that she could read their hearts like a book. Some filthy rich stock broker with a track record for abuse that no-one else was likely to discover, had today been urged to make a decision that would quite surely ruin his company.

"I know, I know, of course," said Merlin, his smile one of friendship rather than hilarity now, "I'm proud of you!"

She hadn't gone into details about what _kind_ of abuse the man was guilty of, but Merlin suspected it had struck a cord with her past. She had never had the easiest of lives. Nor had he, for that matter, so it was nice to have each other to lean on.

"Oh! Oh, Merlin, let's do something _fun_," she said, her face lighting up as she clasped his hands in hers.

"Alright, like what?" he asked, putting his glass back down on the table.

"I found this spell," Freya said with a wicked grin, "And it's reeeeally childish. You'd _love_ it."

"Would I?" he replied, "Because I am a child?"

"Yes," she nodded, "And because it's a looooove spell."

"Arh, no," he pleaded.

"Why not?"

"Because the last time you found a funny loooooove spell, we made a very good neighbour fall in love with a _cat_. And it wasn't funny." He only stumbled over his words a little, and he figured he might almost come off as sober, but then a decidedly tipsy giggle gave lie to that assumption. "Okay, it was _hilarious_. But it wasn't funny the morning after."

Freya nodded guiltily.

"No, it really wasn't. Oh, but this is different, though! It's a fortune-telling spell, and I know it's a good one, because that's my _job_, and it's supposed to give you a vision of your one true looooove."

"Oh, _really_?" Merlin said, leaning his head in his hands and smiling widely at her, "Go on. I could certainly use a bit of guidance in my love life."

She snickered.

"_What_ love life?"

"Exactly."

She laid out some dried flowers from her bag on one of the beaded pillows from the sofa, which they had put between them where they sat, cross legged and facing each other. With unsteady hands, she lit incense and ripped a few pieces of paper from an old, leather bound notebook, one of which she rubbed against Merlin's forehead and then gave him to hold. They were both giggling all the way through. This was very unlike what they did professionally, it had much more in common with the spells they had tried when they were teenagers. Freya was right; it was really childish. But on an alcohol-soaked whim at 2 AM, it was also a great deal of fun.

"Now, repeat after me," Freya said gravely, and then proceeded to chant out a spell. It was in no language that Merlin knew, and was very different to the words he used in his own magic. He thought he recognised some of it as Latin, but he wasn't sure, that not being one of his languages. It was funny how, even working so close together, they had branched out into very different kinds of sorcery.

No sooner than the last syllable of Freya's enchantment had left his mouth, the lounge around him seemed to disappear entirely. The dark room was suddenly gone, replaced with a sunlit office. It was slightly dull, a lot of grey furnishing, but sleek, modern and clean. He was sitting at a desk, or rather, he was seeing through the eyes of someone who was. It was a bizarre feeling. He could still feel his legs crossed on the carpeted floor, feel the texture of the pillow he had his hands on, smell Freya's incense. Yet he also seemed to know, through some other means than sensual perception, that the room in his mind was a little bit colder, and that it smelled vaguely of coffee and paper. The person whose eyes he was looking through was typing, and he saw a pair of hands, distinctly male, with a slight suntan. On the right ring finger was a signet ring with a simple engraving of a dragon. The person was writing an email, something about accounts. Apparently, this company was a bank of some description, and the amounts of money the email detailed were quite frankly staggering. On the side of the computer screen were three post-it notes, scribbled on in a rushed, but elegant and readable handwriting: "Call Morgana about cancelling Cannes" "Set up new account for Mr. S." "Pick Gwen up for dinner 19:30 DON'T be late (flowers?)" The last thing Merlin had time to notice was the name on the email account the man was sending from - A. Pendragon.

"Whoa," he said, confused. It was a little much for his brain to take in, and at the moment it wasn't in any state to take things in in the first place.

"Are you alright?" Freya asked, concerned.

"Yeah, yeah. I just… I think it worked."

"Really?" Her face lit up with curiosity. "How was it? What did you see?"

"Disappointing, actually," Merlin had to admit, "Apparently, my one true love… Looooove…" he sniggered, mimicking the goofy way they'd said the word earlier, "Is a man who works in a bank. Also, he seems to have a girlfriend. So that's, well, not particularly promising."


	2. Chapter 2

Contrary to what seemed to be, for some reason, popular belief, Merlin did not habitually sleep on park benches. If anything, he viewed the experience as somewhat of an adventure. He wasn't entirely sure why Freya had kicked him out of the flat this time, as he had been a bit out of his senses and his short term memory wasn't excellent on those occasions. He was fairly sure it was something during the discussion following the discovery that his one true love was a banker. He didn't blame her when she got angry and irrational, because he was well aware that that happened sometimes, when he triggered something. Perhaps she was going through one of those phases where she was in love with him. That would certainly explain her annoyance, and it did happen from time to time. Once, the feelings had been reciprocated, but their relationship was complicated to say the least. In the end, he had settled with the fact that he would probably not fall for her again. There were already more intricate emotional things going on between them than what was probably healthy, even without adding romance into the picture. Most of the time, she agreed on that. Of course, 'most of the time' was pretty much the most consistent Freya ever was. Like 'most of the time', she didn't lock Merlin out so he had to spend the night on a bench like a tramp.

He had slept rather well, actually. A coat, which was hers, but big enough to fit him and which he had grabbed as he ran out the door, had sufficed as a blanket. It hadn't rained, and no-one had abused him or pissed on him, so he considered himself fairly lucky, even if his body felt a bit stiff when he woke. He was trying to recall the vision he had had of his "one true love". The bank office, fancy if a bit industrial, the nature of the email he had written - he was evidently high up in the system. He was cancelling a holiday with someone called Morgana. Could be a girlfriend, but then, there had been a note about dinner with someone called Gwen, who the banker had considered buying flowers for. That sounded more likt a girlfriend. So either a friend, or a close female relative. Most likely his sister, because who calls their mother by first name?

Merlin had learned a few tricks about cold reading from people in the fortune telling business, people who did not have gifts similar to Freya's. He had never really used them much, but he found the concept fascinating. It was fraud, of course, but pretty damn interesting fraud. Putting two and two together from an environment rather than a person was more difficult, he assumed, and he concluded that that must be the reason why the things he could deduce about this A. Pendragon were quite few. And he hadn't even seen his face. How was he supposed to find him if he didn't even know what he looked like?

The moment he opened his eyes, that problem was solved. The first thing he saw was a bulky signet ring with a dragon engraved on it. He froze for a moment. That kind of ring was unusual, an old fashioned trinket that very few would wear. And he had seen the ring before. He sat up and scrambled off the bench, throwing Freya's coat over his shoulder, scared that the ring, and the hand it sat on, was getting away from him.

"Wait," he called out, stumbling as he ran, his speech muffled by the surprise that came with the unavoidable headache the abrupt movement revealed, another memento from last night.

"Mr. Pendragon! Wait!"

At the sound of his name, the man turned. Seeing his face, Merlin was slightly less pessimistic. He didn't really have a history of being that into guys, but he kept an open mind in every aspect of his life, and he was sure that even if he hadn't performed the spell to know that he would fall for this man, he'd find that face very attractive. _Very_ attractive. Gorgeous, even. He might have gone as far as beautiful, if it hadn't been distorted into a confused and almost disgusted scowl.

"Excuse me?" Mr. Pendragon said, looking Merlin up and down, evidently unimpressed. "Do I know you?"

"My name is Merlin," said Merlin, "And, er, no, you don't, but I know you," he said. As he spoke, he was pushing his magic to reveal whatever it could about this man. He had never been particularly good at the clairvoyant arts, especially when he was hung over like now, but he had a knack for performing well under pressure, and right now he was desperate. The slightest prediction, any piece of information that he could use to impress…

"You're a banker, you work in the City, on the thirty-first floor of your building, which is _really _high up and I don't know how you don't get vertigo. You had to cancel your holiday in Cannes with your sister because of work." He only guessed at this reason, but it seemed more than likely. "And I'm sure Gwen would love some of those," he said finally, gesturing towards the display outside a small flower shop right beside the park. The man looked around towards the shop and then back at Merlin, now obviously disturbed.

"Are you spying on me?" he asked apprehensively.

"No! No, I'm not. Why would I be spying on you?"

"I don't know, you tell me! How do you know all this about me?"

"I'm…" Merlin wasn't entirely sure how to explain it, but he settled for "I'm psychic!"

"…Right."

Mr. Pendragon didn't look any less aghast.

"What's your name?" Merlin blurted out, wondering if perhaps he was still a little bit drunk. It was not completely impossible.

"Well, apparently, you _know_ my name."

"Your first name," he specified.

Pendragon looked at him for a moment, his brow furrowed as he tried to figure out how to proceed.

"I'm not telling you that," he said after a few seconds, "You are, by all appearances, a homeless stalker. And I am not recklessly insane. Now piss off before I call the police."

"I'm not a homeless stalker!" Merlin objected, but he had already turned around and was walking away - towards the flower shop, he noted.

"Listen, I'm sorry!" he added, when his effort to divine some information finally produced one small premonition about A. Pendragon's future.

"Quite right," the other shouted over is shoulder, not bothering to look at him.

"No, I mean I'm sorry about tonight!"

Pendragon hunched his shoulders in an annoyed and dismissive manner and continued towards the flower shop. Merlin headed homewards, dejected. He knew that those flowers weren't going to help much, but he'd already done enough damage.

When he got home, the door was thankfully unlocked, and the small flat smelled of bacon.

"Finally!" said Freya, once she heard him, "Where the Hell did you go off to?"

He shrugged in answer, and she tutted, shaking her head at him as she put a plate down in front of him with a smile. Evidently she had known exactly when he'd be home. The breakfast looked lovely - bacon, beans, scrambled eggs and two slices of toast - and he realised he was hungry as a wolf. If there was one thing he did love about Freya, it was that she was excellent at apologies.


	3. Chapter 3

It had not been the best day of Arthur's life so far. He'd had to stay in later than usual at work, where the pressure had gone up lately. That holiday in France with Morgana, which he had been looking forward to, much as hanging out with his sister wasn't usually his favourite thing, had finally revealed itself to be absolutely impossible. A psychotic tramp who seemed to know far too much about him to his liking had assaulted him on his lunch break. He couldn't wait for his diner date with Gwen to take his mind off things. Originally, he had planned to take her out for chinese, but he felt he'd had quite enough of the outside world today. Besides, if that tramp really _was_ following him - and not _psychic_, as he had claimed to be- then he felt a lot more comfortable staying within his own home. He decided it was a great occasion to impress Guinevere not only with flowers, but with a nice, home cooked meal. There were not many things he was good at cooking, but he should be able to rustle something up.

As he got home and dumped three bags of groceries on the counter in the kitchen, he felt uplifted by a sense of pride in his new plan. He got his phone out and called Gwen.

"Change of plans," he informed her, "You're coming to my place tonight. I'm going to cook for you."

"Really, Arthur…"

"No, no, I won't take no for an answer! I've decided to treat you, because you deserve it."

"Oh, you're too sweet." There was a satiated pause, but she said nothing more except, "I'll see you at seven thirty, then."

"Can't wait."

Actually, when he looked at the clock above the hob, he changed his mind. He could desperately need some more time if he was going to make an impression. He quickly readied some pasta and a pan - yes, it was an easy way out, but at least it was the expensive kind of spaghetti; hopefully that would impress her. He chopped up vegetables and made the sauce without any pre-made components, so he was pretty satisfied with himself come the end result. The sauce was nicely bubbling and the pasta had just boiled for about the right amount of time when the doorbell went off. He turned down the hob and went to greet her. She looked absolutely stunning, as usual. He welcomed her in and bade her wait in the living room.

"Your timing is flawless. I've just finished dinner."

"Really, you shouldn't have," she said, pleased, he thought, but also slightly embarrassed.

"Nonsense. No, no, just sit, I'll bring it out."

In spite of his request, she got up to help him set the table. Arthur was not the most domestically talented of men, so perhaps that was all well. She was a very helpful person, still he wondered about the look on her face. Something wasn't right, and he was not particularly keen to find out what, at least not until he had impressed her with his spaghetti skills. He took the flowers he had bought and put them in a vase.

"I was planning to give these to you at the restaurant, but since we're eating in, they can decorate the table, don't you think?"

"Arthur," she began, but he pretended he didn't hear.

"Would you like some wine?"

"Arthur, I - "

"Please, Gwen. Do you want some wine."

She sighed, smiling that little smile that always appeared when he was being charmingly annoying.

"Go on then."

He poured her a glass, for which she thanked him. After they'd both had a sip and agreed on the fact that the wine's taste was quite satisfactory, Gwen finally got a word in.

"Arthur, we need to talk."

"Uh-oh," he said jokingly, trying to hide his nervousness, "What have I done now?"

"Nothing, nothing," she said sincerely, and put her hand on his on the table. His eyes narrowed. This must be serious. She sighed again.

"Look, the last month has been… Great," she began.

"There's a but coming, isn't there," he said with a grimace. She nodded apologetically.

"_But_," she continued, "I don't think it's working out."

He furrowed his brow. He hadn't been expecting this, and suspected that once he got over his confusion, he was going to be very upset about it.

"How so?" he inquired.

"I don't know, it's just… Look, when we got together, I was… Well." She drew a deep breath, and he allowed her a moment to compose herself and plan out what she was going to say. She may be potentially breaking his heart, but she didn't exactly seem to enjoy it, either.

"I realise more and more that I'm still not over what happened with Lancelot," she said finally, "And I know you're still recovering from the death of your father, and I think we both needed… We both _need_ someone to lean on, but I'm not sure we should lean on each other. Look, I love you," she said, gripping his hand tighter, with both of hers now, "But that isn't the grounds I want our relationship to be built on. And to be quite honest, I don't think I'm ready for a relationship right now. Arthur, I'm _sorry_ about this, I really am."

_Yes_, he thought, _So was my homeless stalker_.

Arthur didn't cry. Crying was not a thing that he _did_. But he rather felt like it at that moment. _I love you_, she had said. She hadn't actually said that to him before, and now she said it during a break up speech? That was a seriously unusual tactic as far as he knew.

"Alright," he said finally, slowly, taking his time to settle with the new situation, "Fair enough."

He ran his thumb along the side of her hand as he tried to figure out what on Earth he should say next.

"I, eh. Thank you for telling me now, I guess, instead of getting my hopes up for a nice evening."

Ouch. No. that didn't come out right at all. Far too bitter sounding.

"I can leave if you - "

"No! No, That's not what I… There's too much spaghetti for just me, and this really doesn't taste as good after a night in the fridge." He forced a smile. "We can still eat dinner together, right? As friends." There was a plea in his voice, and he swallowed. "We _are_ still friends?" He asked, damning the weak whimper that his voice became on that question.

"Oh! Yes," she said quickly, "Yes, yes, of course. If you don't mind me staying, then I'd love to have… A friendly dinner." She smiled at him, one of those grateful smiles that she was so good at, grateful for his understanding reaction, that he didn't burst into tears or throw her out… Or maybe it was an overbearing smile, made of nothing but pity. He couldn't quite tell anymore, but he was inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt. He wouldn't like to throw her out, but throwing _something_ out of the window seemed tempting - throwing things was a bad habit he had when he was upset or angry.

"Eat, the sauce is getting cold"

They ate in silence, but Arthur felt the need to clarify something.

"Look, if you… If you're letting me down gently with the 'not ready' thing, you don't have to… If you just don't fancy me like that, I won't be offended or anything."

"I know. No, I mean it - I just need time, that's all. Maybe in a few months, or a year, who knows. You really are a wonderful person Arthur. I'm so sorry I couldn't be the one for you right now."

A few months, or a year. So maybe all hope wasn't gone, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Eventually, it was time for Merlin to go back to work. Camping adventures on park benches and disastrous attempts at talking to supposed loves were good fun, of course, as was evenings in with wine and dubious magic, but he had to pay for his extravagant lifestyle somehow. He packed his things into an old duffel bag and got dressed in his working clothes - a charming old silk shirt, black suit trousers that were a bit tattered around the edges but still looked quite nice. His cape he kept in the bag for now, preferring to wear a jacket when he wasn't in character. The magician's outfit was perhaps a bit clichéd, but he liked it. It fit his stage persona very well.

Most of his regular places of performance were within walking distance from the flat. He didn't want unnecessary transport costs. Then again, Merlin's definition of "walking distance" was perhaps a bit liberal. He liked walking. Today, he was in one of his favourite spots. It was spacious and a popular thoroughfare, so it was often lucrative. The sign he put up welcomed all to see the Great Emrys - a silly title that he'd adopted as a teenager, but which he'd stayed with - out of nostalgia more than anything. With the swooshing cape and the pretentious name, people who walked by were often skeptical at first, but Merlin soon charmed them with his seemingly impossible tricks.

And of course, they were impossible. His were tricks that would never be found out, because they were not tricks. They were actual magic. As he steadied the sign and made sure it would not fall over if the wind should pick up, he noticed several regular attendees in the crowd along the walkway. Good, he had an especially flashy show planned today, with several new ideas to try out. No doubt they would appreciate them.

"Gather round!" he called out when he was ready and in costume, wearing his cape and an old black hat, his jacket safely folded away under his bag. This was always the most awkward part, going from Merlin to Emrys, from everyman to magician. Once he got into the rhythm of it and started performing his magic, though, things were easier.

He started todays show by pulling a worn out toy rabbit from his hat, to some raised eyebrows and disapproving looks from most of the attending crowd. He then made the rabbit hop around as if it were alive and do a few tricks before he tossed his hat over it. When he lifted it again, what was underneath was a live bunny. The looks of disdain gradually shifted to surprise. He continued his act with fire and butterflies - they were some of his favourite accessories - conjuring shapes in the air and making people gasp and clap and laugh. What he loved about his job was the way it felt to control an audience, to catch their attention and move them to feel and react exactly in the way he had planned.

Of course, not everything went the way he had planned. That Mr. A. Pendragon should show up on the crowd towards the end of the performance, looking partly shocked, partly murderous, that was simply a bonus.

Merlin had never been particularly shy, and Emrys certainly wasn't, so he did not hesitate a moment when his finale came along to pick the man out from the crowd.

"And for my last trick," he announced in his stage voice, "I shall require a volunteer from the audience! How about… _You_, sir!"

He pointed to Pendragon dramatically.

Had he not been in character, he would have laughed heartily at the sight of his face, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. For a moment, it seemed like he would refuse, but then he stepped up to the challenge, as Merlin had known he would. He had a feeling this guy was not someone who could stand being seen as a coward.

"Excellent!" cried Merlin, "What's your name, sir?"

This was a situation with higher pressure; under the gaze of an audience it would be impossible not to give at least _some_ answer.

_Some_ answer, but not necessarily the right answer, as Merlin's newly recruited assistant seemed to realise after a brief moment of panic in his eyes. The corner of his mouth twisted into a self-satisfied smirk as he answered,

"_Merlin._"

Merlin was only a little bit annoyed. Mostly, that little smirk, the stubborn defiance, the fact that he hadn't only given a fake name but Merlin's _own_ name… He wanted Merlin to _know_ that he was answering a trick with a trick. And that thrilled Merlin immensely. They were playing the same game now.

"Merlin! What an unusual name," he said, in his Emrys voice, "A round of applause for Merlin, everyone!"

The crowd obliged.

"Now there's one more thing I need," he continued, "And that is a penny. Does anyone happen to have one?"

Among others, a little girl at the front raised her arm high in the air. She had done the same when he asked for an assistant, and he probably would have picked her had he not had an ulterior motive for the choice. He bowed down in front of her after meeting the eyes of the man standing behind her, presumably her father, to make sure he was okay with it. He was, and she gave up the penny with wide eyes.

"Thank you very much, miss," said Merlin gently.

He placed the coin in the middle of the space he had cleared for his performance, and motioned for his assistant to stand back with him. He made a few lights and flashes occur before a fire suddenly caught in the area around the penny and rose several yards high. He revelled in the sharp intakes of breath from the crowd. When the blaze died down, he took care to show that the penny was no longer there, nor were any marks at all. The audience was too busy commenting about this to each other, at first, to notice that the one _they_ thought was called Merlin had started to cough ever so slightly. The Great Emrys gave him a gentle shove to indicate that he should step into the space, and he stood on the spot where the penny had laid, coughing into his hands. Suddenly his body tensed, and he straightened up abruptly, looking at his hands, which were clasped together, with an alarmed expression on his face.

"Open," suggested Merlin, and so he did.

A flock of small, brightly coloured birds flapped eagerly from out of the confused banker's hands. There was at least a dozen of them, and they all spread out to circle the crowd before they all flew towards the same spot high in the air, and, just as they crashed into each other, exploed into a brilliant firework.

The finale was well received, with applause and cheers all around.

"I believe you have the little girl's penny," he yelled to his mystery banker, making an effort to be heard over the crowd. Pendragon looked a little bit traumatised by what had transpired.

"If anyone else has a penny, or any other sort of coin, you are welcome to put them in my hat! You've been a great audience, thank you!"

He threw his hat back into the middle of the clearing, and people rushed to fill it, including the little girl after she got her coin back.

As he was packing up, putting away what seemed like a good day's earnings, his assistant of the day came up to him again. Apparently he was not going to get away with this so easily.

"You need to stop following me."

Merlin was still disassembling the sign, and didn't bother looking up from what he was doing.

"I'm not following you."

"Don't lie to me. You obviously know where I work."

Merlin sighed as he straightened up to face him.

"Yeah, around the corner here somewhere I expect. I, however, work _right here_. Every Tuesday. Ask anyone - that woman over there, for example. Her name's Sandy and she always comes to watch."

He smiled and waved at Sandy, a voluptuous blonde woman in a pink jacket who waved back amiably. He then looked back at Pendragon.

"If you don't want anything to do with me, just avoid this spot at lunchtime. I've never seen you round here before, so I'm sure it wouldn't be a _great_ loss."

For a moment he thought he was about to be punched in the face, but the other man calmed down a bit. He still looked as if he was searching for words to yell at him. Instead he coughed again. This time it wasn't Merlin's doing, but he still felt slightly guilty- perhaps ha had gone a bit rough on him.

"You alright? Do you want some water?"

He was dismissed with an annoyed hand wave.

"How did you _do_ that?"

"What? The birds?"

He nodded. Merlin grinned.

"With magic, of course."

"Ha-ha."

"Well, is there any other way I could have done it?"

The question earned him an irritated shake of the head and rolling eyes as his banker walked away from him yet again. There was no reason to believe that he'd ever see him again, but there hadn't been last time, either, yet coincidence had worked in his favour. He hoped it would again, as, true love or not, he'd hate to never even learn his name.


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur was not easily defeated. True, he hadn't expected Gwen to end their relationship, and partially wanted to beat himself up about not having seen it coming. But even if he was broken up about it, nothing would get fixed by moping, least of all a broken heart. After allowing himself to feel like crap for a little while, he decided the best thing to do was to shake up his routine. Drink lychee juice instead of pineapple, try out a new kind of cereal, that sort of thing, though possibly not exclusively dietary changes. He tried, on a lunch break shortly after the breakup, to go on a walk in a slightly different direction than usual, but that plan shot straight to Hell, as apparently that area was what he would from now on refer to as 'magician territory'. He hadn't expected to meet his stalker again, and certainly not in that situation, but luckily he had had the wherewithal not to reveal his name. The situation with this Merlin character should probably worry him more than it did, but currently he had other things on his mind, like a lost girlfriend he needed to get over.

He couldn't bring himself to be angry with Gwen. She was right in that they had both been more than reasonably vulnerable when they had first gotten together. And, being possibly the sweetest person in the universe, he knew that her apologies were genuine.

Though he still had a hope that in time, she would be ready come back to him, he decided tat the best thing he could do to cheer himself up and help get over her was to try to start dating again as soon as possible. While Gwen might feel that she needed space, what Arthur desperately needed was company. Luckily, he had a wide range of friends with recommendations for blind dates. Of course, most of them were going to be absolutely awful, but they'd keep him occupied and there was always the off chance that one of these girls would turn out to be a potential relationship. If he should run out of friends-of-friends, then he could always go out to a club looking, but that seemed a little bit desperate to him. Besides, he had too many memories of ill advised nights out during university which still haunted him.

A few weeks and several disastrous dates passed. He tried not to notice the tendency he was going for - girls who were as different from Gwen as possible, mostly blonde, blue-eyed and rich, employed in business rather than as charity workers - exactly the kind, in fact, that his late father would have approved of greatly. So far he'd made one friend - _strictly_ platonic, anything else was out of the question - a couple of enemies, and some droll acquaintances he would like to lose touch with as soon as possible. Hope was fading quite dismally, when, one day, Arthur finally had some luck.

Her name was Mithian, and she seemed very promising. Pretty, but not self-obsessed, clever, but not boring, funny without being too goofy. They even had plenty of interests in common, he discovered on their first meeting. They had a nice lunch, and he asked if she would go on a second date, to which she agreed. It was the first time that had happened 'post-Gwen'.

Of course, everything went to Hell on that second date, which was _not his fault_.

They'd gone for an afternoon meal this time, not something overly romantic, but still very nice. A lot of flirting had been going on, and he was convinced it was going well. After eating and talking for a good while, they decided to go for a walk. In hindsight, Arthur was aware that he should have remembered to avoid that particular park, but at the time, of course, he hadn't been that mindful. At that point, he was just a bit miffed when he realised there was a crowd gathered in the middle of said park, disturbing the path of their semi-romantic stroll.

"What's going on here?" Mithian pondered.

"Don't know," said Arthur with a shrug. She turned to him with a smile.

"Let's go find out!"

He had to smile at her, and laughed a little. Her enthusiasm was very becoming. She ran over to the crowd, and he followed. As he saw a flash of fire in the air above the crowd and heard them gasp, he stopped dead. The smile disappeared from his face. He swore under his breath, then he had to start walking again in order to catch up with Mithian. When he reached her, he faked a smile. Of course it was a magic show. And of course, with his luck…

"The Great Emrys," Mithian read from the sign, "Wow, this is _really_ good, don't you think, Arthur?"

"Mhm," he forced out. She could probably see through his facade; he had a feeling his clenched jaw was very visible. But he was too busy hiding his face to act particularly well. He did _not_ want a repetition of his last humiliation; not in front of a potential girlfriend. For one petrifying moment, he thought Merlin met his eye, but he didn't react at all, so it was probably his imagination. The show was impressive, for those who were into magic tricks - Arthur certainly wasn't. He just felt mildly annoyed that he still had no idea how Merlin could possibly achieve those effects, but he was nowhere near curious enough to want to ask again. The less this person had to do with his life, the better.

One good thing that was coming out of this was that Mithian had grabbed his hand. As a particularly surprising constellation burst into existence overhead, she was startled, and wrapped both her arms around his, hugging it tightly. His smile was genuine when she looked up at him, embarrassed.

When the show was over, Mithian went over to give Merlin some money, and Arthur couldn't really argue with that. Nuisance or not, the man had to earn a living, and he wasn't about to start explaining his quarrel with him to Mithian anytime soon. Or at all, if possible.

"Aren't you going to put anything in the hat?" she asked when she got back.

"Nah, I've seen him before," Arthur said noncommittally. She looked a bit puzzled. Perhaps he hadn't hidden his glum attitude well enough. He made an effort to smile widely.

"I saw some benches over there, do you want to sit down?"

"Hm, yes, I don't see why not."

Good. He could lead her to a completely different part of the park. The safest would be to vacate the premises entirely, but he was just going to hope that Merlin wasn't planning to set up camp on this particular set of benches today. There was no reason to believe that he would; it was far from where Arthur had seen him last time.

Their conversation sparked up again. Mithian seemed to laugh at all of his jokes, which was wonderful. She made him smile, too, and her comments kept surprising him. A lot of the time, he found himself content just to look at her face. This was going in a very promising direction. He liked her a lot already, and he could definitely see himself developing deeper feelings for her if they kept this up.

A male voice dragged him violently from his musings.

"Oh! How romantic!"

His head whipped around to look up at Merlin, standing there with a smug smile on his face, looking shabby as ever. His stupidly camp silk shirt looked all the more ridiculous when combined with the painfully ugly brown suede jacket he was wearing. He also looked as if he'd styled his hair with an electric mixer.

Arthur heard Mithian giggle beside him, and had to close his eyes for a moment, just to compose himself and accept the situation he was in. A few deep breaths, count to ten...

"You're the Great Emrys! We saw your show, we loved it!"

"Thank you very much! Yes, I saw you put a few coins in my hat," Merlin said, and took a theatrical bow, "Ever grateful, milady."

And with that, he placed a flower in her hand, only it wasn't a normal flower - the petals were made entirely out of fire. Mithian gasped.

"Oh! Thank you!" she exclaimed. "Arthur didn't give anything, but he tells me he's seen your show before, haven't you?"

She put her hand on Arthurs, oblivious to the fact that his breath had hitched out of surprise and doom. Shit. Damn. Fuck. Blast. _Damn_ it. The glee that sparked in Merlin's face when Mithian said his name was the most infuriating thing he'd ever seen.

"Yes," Merlin said, barely hiding his triumph, "I do believe I've seen… _Arthur_… In my audience before."

Just hearing Merlin say his name was a pain. It sparked some indefinite emotion running deep within him. Was it disgust? Not exactly. It had a different flavour to it. Fear? No, why would he be _afraid_ of this trickster tramp? He decided to refrain from giving the uncomfortable feeling a name right at this moment. Other matters were more pressing, like the fact that the look of utter resentment on his face was no longer possible to hide from Mithian.

"Arthur?" she asked, "Arthur, what's wrong?"

He didn't answer her, instead addressing Merlin directly.

"What do you want?" he demanded icily.

"I just wanted to thank the two of you for attending my performance," he received in answer, in a voice that feigned innocence.

"Don't give me that crap," Arthur snapped, "You stay away from me."

"Arthur, what - do you know him?" asked Mithian, confused and not best pleased, "Has he wronged you somehow?"

"I can assure you," Merlin said, laying a hand on her shoulder, "I have not - "

"_Don't touch her!_" Arthur was on his feet now. Merlin jumped back a few steps.

"Arthur!" Mithian was genuinely angry now, he could see it. He damned Merlin, everything had been going great until he had stuck his nose up in things.

"I think it would be best if you gave that flower back," Arthur said to Mithian.

"Why?"

"Because I don't _trust_ him."

"Really, Arthur, you're behaving like a madman - "

"Just _give it back_!"

Her jaw dropped. He instantly regretted raising his voice with her. This was very bad. Without another word, she got up, made sure she had all her possessions with her, and made to leave, throwing the burning flower at his feet.

"Mithian," he pleaded, "Mithian, I'm sorry, I - "

"No," she said curtly, not looking up at him until she was a few steps away, then she turned and said coolly, "I expected more from you, Arthur. I'll find my own way home."

He called her name, but it was no use, and he knew that running after her would't help either. Instead, he made his way around the bench and grabbed Merlin by the collar.

"_You_," he hissed, "What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?"

"I'm sorry, Arthur - "

"_Don't_ call me that," Arthur spat, "You have _no_ right."

Hearing Merlin speak his name still made that ineffable discomfort twitch irritatingly inside him.

"I'll let you go now," he assured him, "But if I _ever_ see you again, if you ever _talk_ to me, or try to contact me, I will take out a restraining order. Do you understand?"

Merlin didn't look frightened, but his face was serious, almost bitter. He nodded. Arthur let him go. As he stalked away, Arthur wondered whether he was being too kind, maybe a restraining order should have been his reaction after the very first time they met. He was up to no good, that was for sure. Street magician, homeless stalker, and general saboteur of Arthur's meticulously constructed life.


	6. Chapter 6

Merlin collapsed heavily on the sofa with a loud, inconsolable groan. The sofa groaned back at the sudden weight threatening to finally break what was left of its frame. Right now, Merlin couldn't really care much less. He was covering his face in his hands, rubbing his forehead.

"He hates me," he whined miserably.

Covering his eyes, he couldn't see Freya, but he could imagine her very well. Sitting by the round dining table, lifting her gaze from the book she had been reading when he came in. Probably lifting an eyebrow as well.

"Did you buy crickets?" she asked lightly.

"Yeah."

Merlin waved his hand, and his bag opened. A packet floated out of it and hovered over to the table, where it landed clumsily in the middle. His magic was as listless as he was.

"Great, well done. We don't want the poor dear going hungry."

He didn't bother answering save for a grumble. She sighed.

"Is this about your banker again?"

He sighed despondently and removed his hand from his face, letting his arms flop pathetically to his sides.

"Who else?"

"Well, I don't know," said Freya, casually stirring her mug of tea, "You could've made some sort of new acquaintance lately. You could've gotten over him. I mean, you haven't seen him in what, a month?"

He shook a corrective finger in her general direction.

"Not true!" he insisted, "I saw him today, in fact."

Actually, he'd rather he hadn't in many ways. Just thinking of the encounter with Arthur and his date in the park was painful. He didn't even know _what _he'd said or done wrong this time, although he had a suspicion he would have reached at least fifteen different conclusions after inevitably overthinking it for a week.

"Really?" Freya asked, a bit more interested now, "What happened?"

Merlin groaned anew, and recounted the afternoon's incident. How he had spotted a familiar face in the crowd, seen that he was holding onto a woman's hand - which had made him just a little bit jealous, he could admit to that. How he'd finished the show and they'd disappeared, but then he found them again. How he'd given the woman a flower, and _she_ had been both charmed charming, but _he_ had been less impressed. And of course, how it ended with the couple arguing and Merlin being threatened with legal action.

"Aw," said Freya, empathetically. She had put her book down now, and was holding her mug in both hands, smiling a melancholy smile at him.

"That wan't exactly what you were hoping for, was it."

"Nope," said Merlin, blushing a little, perhaps. He wasn't quite sure _what_ he'd been hoping for. Just anything, really, as long as it wasn't overtly hostile, so of course hostility was what he was doomed to get. Over the weeks that had passed since he had made Arthur volunteer in his performance, his interest in the man had only grown. He had hoped he might come back to watch the show, that he might have sparked his curiosity with his unnatural knowledge and successful prediction. That the prediction was successful was not something he knew for sure, but surely, it must have been. He was convinced the scene with the woman leaving him must have happened, since the woman he was with today had looked nothing like her. And her name had been Gwen, hadn't it? Not Mithian.

It didn't really matter whether it had happened or not, he reasoned, because it hadn't made Arthur any more interested in finding out more. It hadn't made him seek Merlin out as he had hoped. Had this man got no sense of curiosity? Merlin had been waiting and hoping to run into him again, but it kept not happening. He wouldn't exactly say he had been _obsessed_ with the idea, but… Well, Freya might disagree on that. The mysterious man came up in conversation every so often, and he did think about him quite a lot. He was _very_ attractive, if a bit stiff, and he was sufficiently mysterious, and according to the spell, Merlin was going to fall in _love_ with him. If that wasn't good reasoning for being a bit preoccupied with someone, then what was?

It took him a few seconds to realise that Freya was laughing at him. Not maliciously, just a little chuckle, but it still annoyed him a little bit.

"What?" he asked grumpily.

"Nothing. It's just, well, you seem to be shit at getting him to like you. Which is odd," she said pensively, "Because usually everyone likes you."

"Well, what was I supposed to do?"

"Okay, let's recap. You see him in a park, where you have been _sleeping on a bench_ for the last few hours, and you promptly start yelling his own personal information at him out of nowhere."

"I wasn't _yelling_," he protested meekly.

"Still, you didn't really achieve much except creeping him out. And _then_, when you see him again, no apologies or explanations, you just take it upon yourself to make him the butt of the joke on your little magic show."

"I couldn't resist!" he cried defensively, and for a moment, his indignant expression turned into a wicked grin, "You should _see_ him when he gets flustered. It's quite cute."

"But not when he's pissed off."

The grin evaporated.

"No, I suppose not."

"And then, of course, you see him on a date with a woman. Now, you're interested in him yourself, so obviously this is not ideal. However, _you_ go on to make friends with _her_ and completely alienating _him_, which I think is a bit backwards in terms of your objectives."

"Well, I _did_ succeed in ruining their date," he pointed out, even though that had been far from his intention.

"And thereby making him hate you even more. You need to change your tactics, man. You're trying to get a date, not to get arrested."

Merlin buried himself in the sofa cushions.

"You're right, I am shit at this," he grumbled, "He hates me. And I love him."

"Merlin," said Freya, and the fact that she was rolling her eyes was irritatingly audible, "You don't even _know_ him."

"I know, I know, that makes it _worse_."

"Are you fourteen years old, is that it?"

"Yes," he sulked, "…No. Do you think I'd be less shit at romance now if I'd gotten more experience when I _was_ fourteen, and _allowed_ to be clueless and crap?"

"Yes, definitely," she said drily.

"Hmph. Then I blame you, 'cause you were the only one I had a crush on at that point."

He heard a chair being moved, followed by footsteps, then he felt her hand ruffling his hair.

"If I've any fault in this, it's not for being pretty at fourteen, it's for showing you the spell."

The pressure of her hand disappeared from his head and she continued towards her room.

"Mostly it's your own fault, though, for being such an idiot about it. Now, are you going to wallow in self-pity all day, or are you going to remember that it's your turn to make dinner?"

"The latter," he responded reluctantly, slowly dragging himself out of the pillows.

Surprisingly, the cooking got him in a better mood. It got his mind focusing on other things than being depressed over Arthur's hatred and his own inability to change it. Fresh vegetables were, after all, delicious things as well. And they were a lot easier to seduce. By the time he placed the food on the table, he was smiling.

"Well, at least _something_ good came out of today," he said as he sat down, "I've finally learned his name."

"Ooh!" Freya responded, "You left that out of your story! Let's hear, then, what does the A stand for?"

Merlin grinned.

"Arthur."

"Oh," she said, not quite as gobsmacked as he'd hoped. "Well, that's a bit… Anticlimactic?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, its kind of a boring name, isn't it? A bit too… Normal, I'd say."

"I think it's perfect," Merlin insisted.

It was true, Arthur wasn't an unusual name, he could think of many people he had known in his life that had been called Arthur. But from the moment he had heard Mithian say it that afternoon, there had emerged a difference between 'someone called Arthur' and _Arthur_. It was as if he and he alone was the _true_ meaning of the name, all the others just happened to be called the same thing. Some of these gushing thoughts - because he was very aware and slightly ashamed that that's what they were - must have shone through in his voice, because Freya laughed.

"Oh dear," she said, "You really are besotted, aren't you." She paused and had a sip of water. "The next time you meet him will be on his birthday."

Merlin's face snapped up.

"You're not supposed to look into my future, you know. You're definitely not supposed to tell me about it."

This was an agreement they'd reached long ago - Merlin had a tendency to react badly to prophecies.

"I know. But it's not as if fortune telling is completely unrelated to this whole ordeal in the first place. I just thought I'd tip you off. Could be useful."

"Yeah. I guess."

She looked at him ponderously.

"Beats me what you see in him, though," she said after a while, "I mean, I've not met him, but from what you describe, he doesn't sound like a very nice person."

Merlin considered this.

"No, maybe not. Actually, he doesn't seem like a very nice person to me, either." he shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe I'm just developing a thing for arseholes."

"Well, with the whole gay aspect, that might just be convenient."

That made him choke on his food, and in retaliation he flicked a piece of broccoli at her laughing face.


	7. Chapter 7

After the Merlin-induced disaster with Mithian, Arthur decided to drop the girlfriend search for a while. He was exasperated, and maybe a little embarrassed, with his failure until now. In hindsight, he could see that maybe, just maybe, desperately scouring for a relationship to fill the void after a breakup was neither an original idea nor an effective one. Even if bad luck and interfering street artists hadn't conspired to ruin everything, any relationship begun in that phase would probably have counted as 'rebound'. When the one mildly interesting candidate he had been presented with had been lead to believe that he was unreasonably authoritative and mean, he decided that perhaps this just wasn't meant to be. Not that he thought anything was 'meant to be'; Arthur was not a great believer in fate.

Not going out of his way to find a new girlfriend was also not a bad idea if he was waiting for Gwen. Their friendship was normalising now, and it probably wasn't good to have his hopes of a rekindled relationship hovering over every interaction, but it would of course be wonderful if he could be single when she eventually came around and felt ready to try again. He just had to not think about that too much, and things hopefully wouldn't get awkward. After all, he had had a crush on her for a very long time before they even got together in the first place, and they'd been friends then. They could be again, he still had an active social life. His job was going fairly well, and it seemed a few of the matters he had been championing in terms of office policy were actually starting to get listened to. He hadn't had any big fights with Morgana for ages, which was a blessing, because his sister could get vicious. No, life wasn't bad, when he could just keep himself from sulking and worrying over every little problem. Like the lack of romance or the presence of stalkers. His workmates Leon, Gwaine and Percival were the friends he was most likely to ask for advice on matters of any kind, and he had of course discussed both of these polemics with them.

Leon was arguably the most sensible of them all. It was he who had been most useful in the whole dating project, as he was the one who suggested Mithian. Percy's friend Elena he had at least gotten along with, and he now counted her as a friend, but Gwaine's suggested girls were all pretty much disastrous ideas. That was to be expected, really. When asked for advice, Gwaine was usually a little bit too spontaneous and creative in his suggestions for anyone's good. As it turned out, he was even less helpful when it came to condemning Arthur's homeless stalker. When he had vented about the way the wretched man has ruined things for him and Mithian, Gwaine's reaction was excitement. He had seen The Great Emrys perform and was, apparently, a fan. Arthur clenched his jaw when he went on at length about how brilliant the fireworks and butterflies were, and how impossible the show was, apparently oblivious to the fact that Arthur was very much not amused. Leon, on the other hand, was shocked both that Arthur hadn't mentioned this Merlin person before, and that he hadn't immediately called the police after their first encounter.

"You should take these things more seriously, Arthur," he said gravely, "It sounds very strange, downright suspicious."

"Perhaps he's been recruited by Morgana to play some sort of trick on you?" suggested Percival.

That was not something he had thought of before. Percy didn't always say much, but when he did, it was always worth listening. Arthur considered the possibility.

"Nah," he said eventually, "If Morgana were involved, if would be more… Elaborate. But you have a point, though, it could be a practical joke."

"Played by whom?" Leon asked, still frowning.

"I don't know. Possibly by Gwaine, you seem to know the guy."

Gwaine grinned.

"I know his _act_. He wouldn't need to try and _steal_ anything from you or anything, though, I mean, he could make a fortune on his tricks if he wanted to."

"Great, not doing it for money, so he's just mental, then."

"Of course he is! What kind of person _doesn't_ want to make a fortune?" Leon pointed out, still sounding sceptical, but less serious now.

"You're right," said Arthur with a laugh, "That _is_ suspicious."

All in all, he worried less and less. If Percival's suggestion that it was a prank of some kind was correct, then surely whoever was behind it had realised that he wasn't amused by the joke. And if Merlin was planning to do him any actual harm, apart from foiling a date, he was sure he would have done so by now. Whatever that ordeal had been, it was over now.

By the time Arthur's twenty-eighth birthday came along, he was in a good mood generally. It didn't really please him to turn a year older. He had always expected to be much more… _Established_ now that he was only two short years from the terrifying age of thirty. He was still nowhere near where he wanted to be, neither personally nor professionally. Yet a lot could happen in two years. He had to hope it would. Since it was hardly a landmark birthday, he wouldn't celebrate lavishly - he saw himself duty bound to go out on the day and let his friends buy him enough drinks to get him sloshed, but he saw no point in throwing an actual party. He had earnestly discouraged everyone from getting him presents. If he wanted something, he could easily get it himself - the exceptions to that general rule weren't exactly things you could easily wrap and put a ribbon on. Like Guinevere's affections, for example. Not that he was very preoccupied with her at the moment. He had patience.

The office was unbearable, of course. Friends and half-strangers and grudging co-workers all in a mix and all congratulating him with smiles as fake and genuine as the ones he returned. Arthur was a fan of working quietly in an undisturbed environment, but apparently that was impossible on a birthday. He had braced himself for it, but he knew to run away during lunch, as quickly as possible. Otherwise, he would have to face the Hell that was the birthday song. If there was cake, well, they could eat it themselves. He appreciated the effort, but he was not up to dealing with that today.

He breathed out with relief as he left the building. He had avoided being cornered by anyone he knew. He thanked his stars that he worked for such a large bank and in such a large building that the vast majority of people were highly unlikely to know him at all. After he got out, he let his feet lead him wherever they wanted, and enjoyed the fact that the sun was out and that the breeze that brushed his face was warm and pleasant and not at all biting. This wasn't really that bad of a birthday. He didn't offer any thought to where he was going until he noticed a woman he'd seen before in the crowd of people around him, and had trouble placing her face. Then it struck him - it was the woman Merlin had claimed to be one of his regular audience members on Tuesdays. And today was Tuesday. Sure enough, when he paid a little more attention to what was going on around him, he was in a crowd watching a show by The Great Emrys. His first fear was that Gwaine might be nearby, but he was pretty sure his friend was swamped at the moment. He'd been complaining about some accounting that was eating his life, and Arthur knew he'd want to be done with it by tonight. An unusual curiosity struck him, and he peeked through the crowd to see what tricks Merlin was up to today, making sure to be as inconspicuous as possible.

It wasn't a bad show. No poor sod was humiliated this time, more importantly, _Arthur_ wasn't humiliated this time. When the act ended with Merlin conjuring a multitude of bright blue butterflies - they seemed to be his signature move - Arthur clapped politely. One of the butterflies that had spread over the crowd landed on his hand, and when they all disappeared in a puff of smoke, that one was the exception. It spread out its wings to reveal a message - one wing read "To Arthur", the other "From Merlin". The moment he had read the dedication, he heard Merlin's voice alarmingly close by.

"Happy birthday."

He started and looked up. But Merlin was still many yards away by his sign, hat ready to be sent around. He was looking at Arthur, though, and when their eyes met, he winked. It took Arthur a moment to notice that he was smiling back at the magician.

When he realised, though, he promptly looked away, horrified. The message faded from the butterfly's wings. He expected it to disappear like the others after that, but it didn't. Even when he returned to his office after grabbing a bite to eat, it was still fluttering around him, and throughout the day it frequented the area around his desk. It was very annoying, because though it was quite decorative, it also attracted a great deal more attention than he would have liked. It seemed every single woman - why was it always the women? - who walked by his desk for the rest of the day stopped to marvel at it and subsequently engage him in a very uninteresting and repetitive conversation. At one point he managed to shut it in his drawer for half an hour, but he accidentally released it when he needed more post-it notes. It was a nuisance, but he couldn't bring himself to kill a butterfly, so he let it follow him home, where he left it to freely roam his apartment.


	8. Chapter 8

"What does it mean if someone gives you a butterfly?" Arthur asked.

"What?" Leon furrowed his brow "If someone gives you _butterflies_?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it means you fancy them, doesn't it?" Gwaine offered.

"_What_? No, no, not like that! Not _butterflies_, I mean a real butterfly. An insect."

"Like, a lepidopteran that's diurnal?"

Three heads turned to Percival in utter confusion. He blushed uncharacteristically.

"I did a bachelor in entomology," he said defensively by way of explanation, "Before I switched to finance, of course."

"You do know that you're going to be thoroughly questioned about this later, don't you?" Arthur asked him sincerely. Percy sighed.

"Yes."

"So, Arthur," Leon brought the conversation back on track, "Someone gave you a butterfly, and you would like to know what it _means_?"

"That's the general idea. And no, before you suggest it, I cannot ask them in person. It's… No. It just struck me as pretty odd to give a near-stranger a live butterfly, and I thought it might represent something."

"Like a Mafia thing? A threat or something?"

"Essentially, yeah."

"Hmm," said Gwaine, looking at his phone, presumably having googled the topic.

"Doesn't look like it has an established meaning. You give butterfly jewellery to someone whose life is about to change, apparently, but beyond that I only find some bloggers who saw a butterfly and felt compelled to ramble about what a gift from God the sight was."

"Great," grumbled Arthur. That wasn't anything he couldn't have found himself. Leon slapped his back.

"It doesn't look like you should be worried until you find a horse's head on your pillow. Now, Perce - _entomology_? How come you've _never_ mentioned that?"

Arthur had expected the butterfly to die after a couple of days. He wasn't entirely sure about the lifespan of those creatures, though apparently, he could ask Percy if he should be curious. Surely, though, they weren't supposed to live this long. A week had passed since his birthday and it was still fluttering around in his flat. He wondered what it ate. There were plants in the flat, of course, but none of them were flowering. And he knew well enough to know butterflies didn't actually eat butter. He concluded that it couldn't be a real, living butterfly after all - it must be some sort of imitation. And to be fair, it didn't look natural at all. It was far too blue, almost glowing. With time, it grew bigger, and when Morgana paid him a visit next, it was the size of his hand. By then he had gotten used to it, and he was alarmed and confused when she let out a startled yelp after entering the living room without him.

"What is it?" he asked worriedly, poking his head into the room.

"Oh, there's a big… Moth thing. How did that get in?"

"It's a butterfly," Arthur chuckled, "You really haven't been to visit for a while, have you?"

"Well, I don't usually go where I'm not invited," she countered mildly, but there was an uneasy truth to her words. As far as brothers and sisters went, they got along alright, but they weren't exceptionally close. Their childhood had been tumultuous, and growing up they had always been more competitive than friendly. Though they always stood up for one another and had supported each other through good and bad times, nowadays they moved in different circles. He wasn't at all sure he knew her anymore. But she was his sister, and maybe it _was_ rude of him not to ask her around more often.

"It's been around since my birthday," he explained rather than acknowledging her comment, lifting his hand and allowing it to land gracefully on his extended index finger, slowly moving its wings up and down as if showing off their beauty on purpose.

"That is quite an unusual pet," she said, sounding almost impressed.

"You're one to talk, Miss Yes I Have An Albino Bearded Dragon And It Is Totally Exotic. And this is not really a pet. It's just a butterfly that… Hangs around. Of its own volition."

"How did it get here?"

"It sort of followed me home."

"Well, isn't that extraordinary. _Not_ as extraordinary as an albino bearded dragon, though," she took care to point out, "Morgause went through a lot of hassle finding me Aithusa. It was a wonderful gift."

"Well, the butterfly was sort of a gift, too," Arthur said, not able to resist trying to if not one-up, then at least match his sister as well as possible.

"Really? I thought you said it followed you home."

"It did, but I think this guy put it up to it."

"But that's impossible. What guy?"

"A stranger, of sorts," he said, uncertain, and added glumly, "And _he_ is a bit impossible, too."

"I should like to meet him, then."

"I should like to unmeet him."

"Hm. Bitter."

Yes, perhaps it was overly bitter. Besides, Arthur wasn't sure he actually meant it. He wasn't exceptionally angry with Merlin at the moment.

He was glad the topic of his good old stalker didn't come up again though. For once Morgana seemed to know not to pry. He did catch her looking at the butterfly from time to time, though, as if she mistrusted it. That amused him. The fact that it seemed to disconcert Morgana would have won him over even if he hadn't grown strangely fond of the little creature over the time it had been with him. Perhaps it was like a pet in some ways, although it required no tending of any sort. And perhaps he was a tiny bit curious as to whether it was real, how on Earth it was even alive, and what it could be if it wasn't.

He even tagged along with Gwaine to watch the magic show on occasion. At first he was wary, because it never seemed to be quite safe or uneventful for him to watch The Great Emrys. But nothing happened the first time, in fact he was pretty certain that Merlin didn't even notice him. That was a relief. Even though he still wasn't a fan of the magic tricks and spectacle, he was increasingly interested in watching how Merlin worked. The butterfly had sparked his curiosity at last. He would not accept magic for an answer, of course. If he watched enough performances, he was convinced Merlin would slip up at some point, or that he would have some sort of epiphany in regards to how he performed the impossible tricks. Before he knew it, he and Gwaine habitually watched the Tuesday shows together, and the ones on Fridays. Sometimes he even went on his own, when he figured out the locations for a different day of the week. He was very aware that Merlin never showed any sign of noticing or recognising him. That should be a blessing, but increasingly it was becoming an annoyance. You don't get to seriously interfere with someone's sanity and then pretend it never happened.

"Who is stalking who now?" Gwaine would mockingly ask with that ennervating grin of his.

That was a ridiculous comparison. Arthur was not gathering information to any creepy degree, he was not interested in the man himself with his ridiculous clothes and unnervingly big smile. He was simply trying to figure out his trick, his secret. Somehow, he didn't feel he could quite explain that without coming off as slightly mad. It was not the kind of thing he would usually be interested in, had a reminder of the conundrum not been literally fluttering around in his flat for over a month.

"Know your enemy," he answered simply.

This earned him a hearty laugh that turned heads around them on the street.

"Enemy! Oh my, that does sound very dramatic. I can imagine you in an epic battle; Arthur Pendragon versus The Great Emrys!"

"Yes, well, we both know very well who would win if that were the scenario."

"Yessir. You wouldn't have a chance."

Arthur elbowed Gwaine in the side, resulting in a very satisfying 'oomph' sound.

"Rude. And _wrong_."

For all his watching and all his logic, though, he was no closer to an answer. He had watched Merlin's skilled hands conjure all sorts of wonders, had seen every variety of his performance and his own butterfly, well, he had studied that quite thoroughly. But no explanation became evident for any of it. If he could just find the secret to _one_ trick, to make sure that the man was at least _human_… But alas. Grudgingly, his mind told him that is was no use, and that the only way to satisfy his curiosity was to ask.


	9. Chapter 9

Whether or not Arthur and Merlin had known each other for months was not a straightforward thing to assert. Technically, it was a long time since they first met and Merlin almost found it hard to remember a time when he _hadn't_ been ever so slightly obsessed with his insufferable, mysterious banker. But no matter if he felt he knew Arthur after having him on his mind almost constantly for such a long time, the truth was they'd hardly ever spoken, and every attempt at communication had gone straight to Hell.

Even so, when he had spotted Arthur in the crowd and realised from Freya's words that it must be his birthday, and he had made him a butterfly as a gift, Arthur had smiled at him. He was damn sure of that. Even if he _hadn't _noticed the little smile itself, he would definitely have seen the way Arthur's face reacted when it realised what it was doing. It had been quite hilarious. Since then he had been marginally more optimistic, though he still hadn't tried to contact him. That was too risky. It was best, this time around, to make Arthur come to him.

And so Merlin waited.

More and more, he would see Arthur's face in the crowd with frequency, and he made a point of not reacting to it. If he had finally managed to spark Arthur's curiosity, he wouldn't risk giving anything away. Once Arthur was out of sight, though, he hadn't been able to stop grinning. The first couple of times he came home all distracted, Freya had assumed he'd made some sort of breakthrough.

"What, he just watched the show and that's it? You didn't talk or make up or anything? That doesn't sound like much progress to me."

"Oh, but you don't _know_ him, Freya!"

"To be fair, Merlin, neither do you."

He was quite determined to ignore that particular detail no matter how many times the conversation was repeated. He was firm in the belief that it would sort itself out eventually.

Finally, it happened, on a Tuesday, while he was packing up his things after a short performance. The crowd was dispersing, and his hat came back to him with a satisfactory weight to it. As he turned to leave, he nearly jumped out of his skin, because there was Arthur, only a couple of metres away, and looking at him. He didn't look particularly happy, but the long awaited breakthrough still had Merlin grinning like an idiot while saying hello. Arthur sighed heavily and didn't return the courtesy.

"So, go on then. What's the secret?" he asked.

Merlin furrowed his brow.

"The secret? What do you mean?"

Arthur grumbled irritably and gestured to the area where Merlin had been performing.

"How you do it. All that. This Great Emrys gig. The lights, the explosions. You win; I can't figure it out. So just… Tell me?"

Merlin chuckled.

"I already _did_ tell you, I think. It's magic."

"No, it's not," Arthur said dismissively, "Look, you're very good at what you do. I've watched you closely for a while, I know your shows, I studied your butterfly -"

"_Your_ butterfly," Merlin corrected, "It was a gift, remember?"

Arthur had _watched him closely_. If he'd had any idea what that assertion did to Merlin's insides, he might have been merciful enough no to say it. That sort of twisting, no matter how delighted, could hardly be healthy. Nor could the effort it took to keep a straight face.

"Yes. My butterfly. Whatever. Well, what you're doing, all of it, it… It doesn't make sense."

Merlin bent down to pick up the bag he had let slip to the ground when he turned his attention to the conversation.

"Sense is overrated," he said lightly. Arthur scoffed.

"Yeah, you would be the kind of person who says that, wouldn't you."

"And you'd be exactly the person to disagree, I'm sure."

Arthur's face sank from annoyance into a stony expression that was difficult to read, but definitely not good. It looked like some kind of fear, or anger, or hatred even. It was definitely unhealthy of Merlin to find the sight almost as beautiful as he found it alarming.

After a few seconds of frozen silence, Arthur spoke.

"You know," he said, his voice far more casual than his facial expression, "I don't know why you made such a big deal out of finding out my name. You had my last name and a rough idea of when I was born, that's easily enough information. You'd just have to find an online birth register. Any dolt with an internet connection could do it."

Merlin didn't quite know how to respond to that.

"I knew your first initial as well," was all he could think to say. That was probably not the best idea.

Arthur's lips twitched uncomfortably.

"And, uh," Merlin added, "I don't have a computer."

Apparently, the shock and indignation caused by this revelation was enough to override the suspicion or loathing or whatever it was that had taken over Arthur's face. Now, his mouth fell open in surprise.

"What? In this day and age?"

Merlin shrugged.

"My old laptop died a year ago, and I never really saw the need to get a replacement."

"You're insane," Arthur mumbled, shaking his head, "You really are insane."

"It's never been diagnosed, but probably, yeah," Merlin answered drily. Arthur laughed uncertainly.

Then that damned silence fell again for an awkward moment.

"Yes, well," Merlin eventually said sheepishly, "You have a bank to get back to, I guess. I'm sorry I… I'm sorry I couldn't give you an explanation. Well, not one you'll believe, anyway. Here."

He conjured up the first thing that came to mind as an apology, and held out a flower. This one wasn't on fire, it was just a normal carnation. As he stretched his arm out, offering the flower to Arthur, he immediately regretted it. His romantic side really shouldn't be allowed to influence his decisions in these interactions too much.

"That's… That's probably a stupid gift. Better fit for a girl now that I think of it. Sorry. I guess you could, I don't know, give it to this evening's date or something. Or put it in your lapel and pretend to be Oscar Wilde."

Arthur took the flower in spite of the ninsense. Merlin laughed nervously, feeling his skin jolt when their fingers touched briefly. Yet another reminder of how uselessly far gone he was.

"I don't have to go back to work, actually," the banker said pensively, looking at the flower.

"I got away early today, after the… Well, I'm finished for the day. And, uh," he looked up now, with a little smirk, "Oscar Wilde was known for _green_ ones."

"Oh," said Merlin. As an afterthought, he shot the flower another look. Arthur followed his gaze, and when he discovered that the previously light pink flower was now bright green, he yelped and dropped it as if it had burned him.

"How do you _do_ that?" he asked again, but it was more of an annoyed exclamation than an actual question, and he didn't wait for an answer before carrying on, riling himself up.

"_You_ don't make any sense. Your whole existence is just so _wrong_, I don't understand! What do you even want from me?"

Merlin swallowed. For a moment, things had been civil, almost friendly between them. So much for that. Needless to say, he was inclined to give Arthur's intentions the benefit of the doubt, but it still wasn't altogether pleasant to have his existence labelled as _wrong_. That was an attitude he had encountered a number of times in his life for a variety of reasons, and it never ended well.

"I just want to know you," he answered weakly, trying not to let his hurt feelings shine through too much. Luckily Arthur was still too agitated to notice anyway.

"What? Why would you want to know me?"

"Because… You're important?"

Arthur laughed darkly at that.

"Important!" he rolled his eyes, "Important to whom?"

"To - To me," Merlin stuttered out. It was the best explanation he could manage, and it didn't seem to impress Arthur particularly if his confused scowl was anything to go by. It relented and the man sighed again, apparently done with his rage for now.

"I don't understand you," he repeated wearily, "I just don't. Which is bloody unfair, actually, because you seem to know an awful lot about _me_, especially for a guy with no access to Google."

"You could always _get_ to know me," Merlin hesitantly suggested, trying his best not to get his hopes up too much.

"I mean, we could… Since you don't have to go back to the office, I could always treat you to lunch."

He was amazed at how calm he managed to keep his voice through that sentence in spite of the intense struggle that was taking place inside him. To say he was conflicted would be an understatement, and right now it seemed like his common sense was being held hostage, watching on in horror as his irrational, obsessive side pretty much went right on and asked Arthur on a date. He braced himself for the answer, but to his surprise, Arthur mostly just looked flustered.

"Oh!" he said in surprise, "Erm, no, I couldn't, I mean, I - You - I couldn't possibly accept…"

It took a few moments before Merlin realised what the problem was, and then he laughed heartily.

"Arthur! Arthur," he said reassuringly, trying to gain his attention again, "I'm not _actually_ homeless."

Arthur fell silent when his name was spoken, and Merlin remembered that he had 'no right', but it seemed he wasn't going to get in trouble for it now.

"You're not?"

"No! Jesus, how do you think I'd… I mean… Of course not! I live in a nice flat with a kitchen and a sofa and a nice bed and everything."

Well, he was certainly proud of himself for bringing his _bed_ up in conversation without blushing, that was something.

"Oh, well… I guess, okay, then."

"Really?" Merlin couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, and judging by Arthur's eyes, he couldn't quite believe it either.

"Yes," he said all the same, "Let's have lunch."


	10. Chapter 10

"So," asked Arthur, "If you're not homeless, why were you pretending to be asleep on a bench that one time?"

Arthur had never been in any way short of cash, but he was ever pragmatic, so he knew not to decline when someone offered to buy something for him. Unless there was a moral obligation, of course, which he had thought there was in this case. Evidently not. Of course, there is no such thing as free lunch but the price to pay was to chat with Merlin for a while, which didn't seem all that disagreeable. He _was_ genuinely curious about this guy now. He very much disliked being left with unanswered questions, and as much as he'd told himself he would be glad to be rid of Merlin no matter what, that wasn't entirely true. He wanted to know, he wanted an explanation, because there was nothing about Merlin that made sense.

"I wasn't pretending," Merlin answered defensively, "I _did _sleep rough for that one night. Not by _choice_," he hastened to add, probably noticing Arthur's expression, "My flatmate locked me out after an argument."

"Right. That sounds like a pain."

"Well, it all worked out for the best."

Arthur didn't ask what he meant by that, he was sure he didn't want to know.

"Hold on," said Merlin as if something had just occurred to him, "If you were still under the impression that I had no place to _live_, why the hell were you surprised that I don't own a computer?"

Arthur was slightly taken aback. He wasn't sure how to explain that inconsistency himself.

"I, eh. I don't know," he said pensively, "I guess at that point in the conversation, I didn't think of you as a homeless stalker, but more as a… Normal person."

He could hear for himself how unfortunate that sounded, and so, obviously, could Merlin. He braced himself slightly.

"Semi-normal, at least."

"So you're implying that homeless people are not 'normal'? What exactly does that mean?"

"No, I don't mean to say that there's… I just… I wouldn't normally be in a conversation… I don't know," he admitted at last.

"You're more willing to have anything to do with me now that you know I'm not a crazy tramp. Right. We're going to have to work on that attitude of yours."

Arthur was about to cover the fact that this was very valid criticism by objecting to the assertion that Merlin had any business changing anything about him, attitudes or otherwise, but before he could do so, a waiter appeared and asked for their order. They were at a café that he hadn't even known about until Merlin pointed it out, even though it was quite close to the office. That meant that he didn't have a regular order there, like he did in the places he usually frequented, and so he chose the falafel pretty much at random. This made Merlin scoff, something he chose not to address until the waiter had drifted off away from their table. It seemed he could do nothing right in Merlin's eyes, and that bothered him more than it probably should. But nobody likes being disliked.

"And what's wrong with the falafel?" he asked curtly.

"Nothing. I just wouldn't expect that to be your thing, that's all. Besides, falafel is only _really_ good when it's homemade."

"Restaurant staff are _professionals_. That trumps homemade, surely."

"Not when Freya's cooking."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"That's your girlfriend, is it?"

"Not an it, a she," Merlin corrected, and Arthur thought that now he was simply _looking_ for things to persecute him for, which was hardly fair.

"And no, she's not my girlfriend, she's my flatmate."

"Your flatmate who chucked you out?"

"That'd be the one."

"Sounds like a nice girl."

"Oh, she's brilliant, really. She's the sweetest person in the world, but you know, sometimes if you're not careful, she can turn int a right monster."

"I know the type," Arthur mumbled, thinking of his own sister, although Morgana was never quite _sweet_. Merlin just laughed.

"What did you do to get her so riled up, anyway?"

"Uhm."

Merlin looked at him with an expression indicating that he was unsure whether that information should be divulged.

"You don't _have_ to tell me," Arthur hastily reassured him.

"No, no, it's just, the answer is, inconveniently, magic."

Arthur raised his eyebrows at him for a moment or two. He wavered between annoyance, exasperation and amusement, and decided that the last of the three was more constructive in terms of conversation. He laughed and shook his head.

"Right. Of course. I thought the point of this was - "

"Yes, yes, it was. We've established that you don't consider the word 'magic' considerable explanation for anything. But there's more of a story to this one, if you want to hear it." Merlin sounded apologetic enough.

"Go on then." Arthur leaned back and lifted one of his eyebrows again by way of challenge - trying to communicate that _this better be a good story_. Merlin didn't seem very comfortable with that scrutiny, swallowing and looking away.

"Well, we were a bit drunk, and she persuaded me into doing a spell that would give me a vision of my one true love."

Arthur couldn't keep from laughing at that. Merlin glared sourly at him, but he was fairly sure there was a hint of a smile on the corners of his mouth.

"Right," Arthur said when he managed to still the laughter, "So what was it about this bogus spell that riled her?"

Merlin frowned, though that hint of a smile was still present - slightly overbearing, Arthur thought.

"Oh, it wasn't a bogus spell, it worked perfectly. It just wasn't what either of us were expecting." he took a sip of his water, "I think she was hoping I'd see _her_. Mind you, that would have been a bit more… Convenient." his voice gradually turned into a mumble on those last words.

"So who _did_ you see, then?" Arthur asked, still very amused. It was odd that Merlin actually seemed to believe in this magic business - as a person who knew all the trickery behind it, he should be the first to disbelieve, yet he seemed totally serious.

"I - " he started to answer, but then froze for half a second, his expression blank, before making a retreat, "You know, actually, that's private."

"Fair enough." Arthur raised his hands in mock surrender.

Their food arrived, and once the they'd both thanked the waiter, who scurried off, Arthur picked the conversation back up.

"So your flatmate is into this whole magic schtick as well, is she?"

"Freya is a seer. Hence the fortune telling."

"So, what, she goes around dishing out true loves to people left right and centre?"

"Not exactly, no. There are a million ways to read someone's future."

A half-forgotten memory stirred in Arthur's mind.

"My sister," he reminisced, "She used to say she could tell the future in her dreams. At first we all laughed it off, but then she'd start having nightmares and being terrified that they would come true. It took heaps of therapy to convince her they were just dreams."

He smiled a little thinking of his nutty sister. If he were completely honest with himself, he'd admit that the memory was a bit unsettling, but he was adamand that it should be funny, so he kept his smile. Merlin did not seem to understand the evident mirth, and looked grave.

"Did any of her predictions ever come true?"

"Well, I don't know. It was long ago. Besides, coincidences happen."

"Like when I happened to know all sorts of things about you before we even met, or that something bad would happen to you that night? You think that was all guessing?"

Arthur dropped his fork. He did not need reminding of the whole Gwen situation, not now. He could hear for himself how his voice changed from amiable mockery to apprehensive seriousness.

"The latter part, yes," he said, picking his fork up from the table, "The former part, I really don't know."

The following silence was tense. Arthur surveyed Merlin quietly, but the other man didn't meet his eyes, staring off out the window.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said eventually, still looking away.

Arthur sighed. He knew he wasn't going to get any decent explanation, and the topic seemed to infect his own mood as well as the conversation, so he looked for a less contentious direction to take.

"Yes, well," he said slowly, "I didn't think you were a fortune teller anyway. Aren't tricks and illusions your thing?"

That made Merlin look back at him at last, with a small smile on his face. It felt like a triumph.

"True," said he, "But I'm lucky. Most types of magic come easily to me, even if they're not what I usually do. But yes, seeing the future is horribly difficult and vague. When I predicted your evening, I just saw a woman and felt that she would make you sad. I assume she must be Gwen, since that's the name I saw in the vision of you before, but there was nothing clearer than that. Like how I knew your last name and not your first - It's only tiny fragments, you know? And for a proper view of any piece of the future I'd need a crystal or something of the sort; I'm no seer. I'm rather glad of that, actually. I've been friends with Freya for many years, and we're close enough that I've seen what it's like. It's a really rough gig."

Staring nonplussed at Merlin, Arthur decided that it was time to abandon the subject of magic and fortune telling entirely. He didn't understand half of what Merlin was on about, and it unsettled him.

Once that decision was made, the conversation flowed much easier. They chatted about books - they seemed to have a few classic favourites in common, but in some choices they differed entirely - friends - Arthur explained his little clique at work and Merlin shared outrageous stories of the antics of his childhood friend Will - and they even discussed politics a little, prompting Merlin to express pleasant surprise at Arthur's standpoints.

"Such prejudice!" he called indignantly, "Just because I wear a suit and tie, you assume you know what I vote? Very disappointing, Merlin, I must say."

"And who was it that spent ages thinking I lived on the street again?"

"You were sleeping on a bench, it was a natural assumption."

Merlin looked unconvinced.

"Fine," Arthur sighed, "Let's agree that we're both a bit prejudiced."

Their conversation rolled on, and when they finally left the café, it was nearing the time when Arthur would normally return from work.

"Well, that wasn't absolutely horrible," he admitted.

"You flatter me," said Merlin, rolling his eyes, "See you around, yeah?"

"I suppose so," Arthur answered as they parted. He still didn't believe in magic, and so a lot of things still didn't add up, but he was baffled by the sensation that at some point during the day, he had made a _friend_ of Merlin. Well, something along the lines of a friend, anyway. His definitions were, like much of his mind on encountering Merlin, getting a little bit shaken.


	11. Chapter 11

As if some deity had set aside this as a day to answer prayers, Percy was the only person sitting at their regular table. Arthur thanked the powers that be, which he didn't quite believe in, for his luck, and he thanked his own brains, which he believed in very much, for the bright idea it had been to take lunch early. A very disturbing thought had occurred to him since having lunch with Merlin, and Percival as the perfect person to consult. Leon and Gwaine, especially, _vitally_ Gwaine, were not.

"Perce," he said jovially as he slid down into his habitual place at the table, "Exactly the man I was looking for."

Percy, as was his custom, said nothing, opting instead to raise his eyebrows and let his eyes widen in surprised confusion. Arthur pressed his hands together and rested his chin against them while determining how to proceed.

"I was just wondering. I mean. You've…" his voice lowered as he approached the actual topic of conversation, "You've dated guys, right?"

"Yes?" said Percy, looking befuddled still. No wonder, really, it wasn't characteristic of Arthur to randomly quiz people on their dating history.

"I was wondering," he said again, "When you're out with a guy, how do you know if it's a date?"

Percy stared at him, keeping his face skeptical and making Arthur quite aware of what a ridiculous question he'd asked.

"How do you know if you're on a date with a woman?" Percy countered eventually, slowly and fortunately keeping to Arthur's established low volume.

"Well, it generally is a date unless she's a good friend, or a business associate, or my sister."

"And was this guy a good friend, or a business associate, or your sister?"

"No," Arthur sighed, "But it definitely wasn't supposed to be a date. Do you think he could have construed it as a date?" he asked desperately. Percival frowned.

"How would I kno-?"

There Arthur shushed him in a panic at spotting Gwaine rapidly nearing the table. Greeting the new arrival with a grin, he mouthed the word 'sorry' to Percy, who luckily seemed more amused by Arthur's strange behaviour than offended. Though of course, having any of his friends laugh at him was technically not ideal.

He had been very disturbed when it struck him, though, how eerily similar their lunch together had been to a first date. And while he certainly wasn't adverse to the _thought_ of being attracted to men - though he had certainly never dared entertain the possibility on acting on it, not with a father like his - that was definitely not the kind of intention he had towards Merlin. Surely not. Exactly what his intentions actually were, he had to admit, was vague at best, even in his own mind. In all likelihood, he was just going a little bit insane. Shouldn't be anything to worry about.

If he had believed a deity to hold his favour by allowing him to ask Percival's advice in private, then its good opinion had evidently shifted by the time the next day rolled along, and this malicious god continued to scorn him as the week progressed. He received a polite email from his supervisor with a stern subtext implying that if he didn't stop quibbling investments, he risked seriously annoying some very important people. It was Arthur's least favourite kind of message, because he knew he was right in all the arguments he'd made, else he wouldn't have bothered making them, and it was ever so galling that the idiots in charge never listened to his better opinion. Yes, okay, it was perhaps a bit arrogant - possibly _dangerously_ arrogant - to have that sort of attitude towards one's superiors, but it wasn't as if he'd received any solid reasoning in return. If someone had given him more than 'we rank higher than you and we say so', then he might reconsider his standpoints. The reminder of his powerless position was merely the beginning of his problems, though. The bank was undergoing a major investment deal with a couple of companies - ones that Arthur wouldn't have wanted to touch with a ten foot pole had he had any say - in a process that was difficult with numbers that were not adding up. The formalities were immense, and of course, this meant that quite a lot of paperwork befell Arthur. So much, indeed, that he stayed overtime every day for two weeks in a row. He swore his manager was loading this much on him as revenge for their disagreements, and he left a voicemail to Morgana informing that they _would_ take that weekend in Cannes that they had been vaguely planning all year at the first possible opportunity, because if he didn't get a break soon he would surely collapse from pure pressure. That, and what little they had of a brother-sister relationship was in danger of finally crumbling from neglect.

With the promise of a holiday in the Mediterranean, he had a light of sorts to work towards through the murky darkness of his current existence. Okay, maybe that was a bit melodramatic. But still. He wasn't overjoyed with his life. Not that he wasn't dedicated to his job, and to the company. He loved it a lot, and all of his troubles would be over if he could just get through the work and get on top and somehow impress enough to secure a promotion at some point. Arthur wanted control, because he wanted things to be done _right_, and when nobody else seemed to have the sense to get that done, he _ached_ to take matters into his own hands. One day… But first, what felt like a lifetime of filing reports and checking accounts and calling stubborn people left right and centre trying to figure out how to please everyone, which really shouldn't be his job but somehow ended up falling to him anyway. The worst came when his mobile chimed while he was in the middle of another soul-crushing report read-through.

"Yes?" he snapped into the phone, annoyed.

"Is this a bad time?" a soft, sweet voice asked him.

"Gwen!" he exclaimed, straightening up in his seat, nearly knocking a stack of papers from his desk in surprise, "No, no, it's… I thought you were… No, it's not, honest."

"Alright," she sounded hesitant.

"How are you?" he asked cheerfully.

"I'm good, Arthur. I'm doing… Really good. And you?"

"I'm fine, fine, yeah. I'm, you know, a bit busy at work, but nothing I can't handle."

"Good. I'm glad."

There was a brief silence, which for Arthur was filled with anticipation. Gwen's tone of voice immediately revealed that this call was not at all casual. When she didn't speak, he found it necessary to prompt her.

"Gwen? You still there?"

He knew she was, of course, on account of her breathing.

"Yes! Yes, sorry, I… I wanted to ask, do you maybe want to get together this weekend? Just the two of us?"

For one moment, Arthur's entire being filled with an explosion of triumph - after all these months of waiting and pining and suppressing, she finally seemed ready to try again. She hadn't explicitly said so, but her tone was unmistakable. He knew her well, after all. He even went so far as to lift his fist in the air victoriously before he realised he was still at the office and this was probably rather strange behaviour. The office also reminded him of why this weekend was an absolutely impossible time for any rekindling of past relationships. He lowered his arm awkwardly in as professional a manner as he could manage.

"That sounds _great_," he assured her, "But can we maybe do it next week? Only, I'm a bit swamped in these reports, and I wouldn't want that to interfere with… Well. It would be nice to give you my full attention without work hanging over my head."

"Oh! Yes, of course. This week. Yes."

"Say, Wednesday?"

"That sounds brilliant! Yes, I'll see you then, yeah?"

"Yes. See you then."

He pretended not to hear the disappointment hardly concealed by the excitement in her voice, and swore that if this postponement and that damned deal that had caused it actually ruined his long awaited second chance with Gwen, he was going to throttle his manager with his own hands, consequences be damned.

It was already dark outside when he left. Granted, the sun set earlier these days as autumn was progressing quite mercilessly, but he still felt he had the right to some indignation. Adding insult to injury, his regular underground station was closed, condemning him to take the - not long, exactly, but still usually unnecessary - walk through the park to get to his train. It was probably dangerous, in fact, for him to be walking through the dark, deserted place at this time of night. He could get mugged, or stabbed, or run into some drunk or junkie.

Or magician.

At first he didn't recognise the figure sitting on the bench, only halfway illuminated by the streetlights; the one directly above him appeared to be broken. He found the silhouette familiar before he was close enough to see the details of the man's face and identify him as Merlin, and even then, this seemed a wholly different person to the one he had had run ins with earlier. His face somehow managed to be simultaneously dejected and defiant, staring off into the distance as if he'd come to terms with the general shortcomings of the world and decided to go along with them although he was adamant not to like it.

Okay, maybe Arthur was projecting a tiny bit. But the fact remained, Merlin did not look particularly content.

He didn't seem to hear Arthur's footsteps as he approached, even though they seemed to echo through the park at an unreasonable volume. He kept staring, clearly out of sorts. His face looked strange under this light, unnatural almost. His pale skin looked eerie, and the sharpness of his cheekbones was unsettling in the shadows. But for all the oddity of the sight, it looked strangely…

Arthur shook his head before his mind managed to finish the word 'beautiful', because that was clearly madness rearing its head again. He resolved to clear his throat, and only then did Merlin tear his gaze away from the imagined horizon to stare at Arthur for a full five seconds before he seemed to recognise him.

"Oh," he said then, averting his eyes, "Hi."

"Good evening."

Merlin scoffed.

"What are you doing here at this hour?"

"I had to work late."

"Oh."

The silence of the evening fell again, ominous and pressing.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked uncertainly after he couldn't take it anymore. Merlin laughed humourlessly, a wheezing breath.

"Nope," he answered.

"Oh."

Arthur didn't know what more to say. The whole situation was very uncomfortable. But then Merlin got up from the bench, the same bench, Arthur realised, he'd been sleeping on when they first met. He smiled at Arthur, but it was not without a certain gloom.

"Do you want to see some magic?" he asked and walked off, and Arthur found he had no option but to follow. If nothing else, this would be a welcome distraction from his general misery, and possibly Merlin's as well.


	12. Chapter 12

AN:

Hello, I'm very sorry about the lateness of this chapter. I needed to expel a few oneshots that had been brewing while working on this, so I've produced a few shorter works, and then I had to go out in the world and Do Stuff. Horrifying concept.

Plus, I won't deny it, I'm scared that since people have liked the story so far, someone might actually care if the rest is shit. I don't want to disappoint anyone. But better a shit story than no story, eh? I will try to be a bit quicker on the update in the future, bear with me.

Drugs and magic were not a good combination in any way. Both Freya and Merlin knew this very well, partially from hard-earned personal experience. Alcohol usually went alright, except for the mildly stupid spells that could suddenly seem a lot more advisable than they really were. Anything else tended to have a range of unfortunate consequences, from triggering strange outbursts to magic working itself beyond the user's control to the drug simply holding a much stronger effect than it should. One of Merlin's most disturbing memories was the time some frightening classmates peer-pressured him into one puff, one single puff, of something unsavoury they were smoking, and he'd been unable to use his magic for the five following days, spending them in frustration and fear that his most precious asset might never come back. That had been it for him, and he'd never approached so much as a painkiller in his life afterwards.

For Freya, it had never been that easy. For normal people, safety with drugs seemed to generally amount to 'don't do the illegal ones and listen to your doctor's advice'. Since the magic part of the brain didn't distinguish between them in the same way, prescribed drugs could be just as hazardous. And it seemed to be a thing for seers to have problems that doctors wanted to treat with drugs. In Freya's case, her visions would act up and get unbearably intense whenever she was stressed or worried, effectively amplifying those feelings and losing her a lot of sleep. Sometimes, when things were bad, she could go weeks without sleeping more than a couple of hours, her visions getting worse. She'd look people in the eyes and see how they were going to die, she'd live through tenfold of future disasters a day. That was obviously not a sustainable way of life, so eventually, after one breakdown too many, she'd found a happy medium of sleeping pills prescribed from a doctor, of which she never took more than a fraction of the prescribed dose, and using Merlin as a stand-in therapist, a role he was happy to play. Seeing a real professional was an alternative that scared both of them. She could never be completely open with them about the nature of her problem, or she'd risk her abilities getting her branded as delusional. She needed to talk to _someone_, though - if she didn't get to vent, the temptation to risk more medication would rise along with he instability of even the slightest dose.

When Merlin woke up to find Freya asleep on the sofa, he was at first fondly amused, until he found himself unable to wake her up, her pulse weak and her skin cold. He called an ambulance and made an effort to still his violently beating heart.

Fortunately, they woke her fairly quickly. The doctor was puzzled. As usual when dealing with official institutions like this, Merlin claimed to be her brother. It was usually accepted without question.

"She seems to have overdosed on her sleeping pills, but upon examination we found that she has had no more than a fifth of the dose that's been recommended to her. It's very strange. I'd like to keep her here until tomorrow to do a couple more tests in order to see if we can find the reason it affected her the way it did; for now, I'd say that she should definitely switch her medication. Beyond that, I'll have to let you know."

Merlin nodded. The examination would find no rational explanation, because the problem was not rational. The switch in medications would be more hassle than it was worth. He knew both of these facts, but there was no use trying to explain them.

"Can I see her?"

"Yes, you may talk to her, but I think you'll find your sister is still a bit reduced."

She looked even tinier than usual on the hospital bed. Still, she smiled at him when he entered, and he felt a weight leave his heart as he went to sit beside her. He took her hand, and it seemed pale even measured against his own light skin.

"Hey," he said.

"I'm sorry," she answered, getting straight to the point.

"It's alright. Well, it's not really, is it? We measured it all out. That dose wasn't supposed to be too much, so there must be something wrong that you're not telling me about."

"I know, I…" she lifted the hand not held by Merlin to her brow and rested it there as if sheltering herself from the world.

"They've been really getting to me lately. Visions. I mean, I couldn't sleep, and the dreams were just… I was scared; you remember how I got the last few times! I needed rest, that's all. Or else I thought I might do something stupid. I didn't think it would react that way already. I needed _sleep_, I just want to sleep."

He nodded along with her as her voice dissolved.

"You_ did_ do something stupid," Merlin pointed out with a sympathetic smile.

She laughed thinly and nodded. He sighed.

"You shouldn't have risked it if it was like that, you know to try every other way first! If it had gone so far that it makes your medication go ballistic, then it must have been brewing for ages! Why haven't you said anything? I thought talking helped you cope."

"Yes, it does. But I… You…" she sighed heavily and covered her face with her hands, something that seemed to take a lot more effort than it should have.

"I didn't want to bother you. You have other things to worry about."

"There are always other things to worry about."

"Yes, but now is different, because you're falling for someone. And he's good for you. But I don't belong in Arthur's world, Merlin. And I can't keep relying on you when I know, one day, you'll be gone."

Merlin was gobsmacked. Then he was angry. He took her hands in his and removed them from her face.

"That is _not_ for you to decide. Look, I don't care - I don't _care_ what you've thought, or, or what you've _seen_, alright? Arthur or no Arthur, you'll always belong in _my_ world, are we clear? I'll never leave you. Never. And you're simply not _allowed_ to go and get yourself hurt like this because you think I won't care."

The doctor stuck his head in, probably summoned by Merlin's agitated tone. Freya averted her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said again.

"It's alright," Merlin answered hastily, "So am I. But we'll talk about this tomorrow when you get home, alright?"

She nodded, and he kissed her forehead before saying goodbye.

It had been strange to return to the world, finding that the day was still bright, the clock only approaching noon. He'd gone about his day on autopilot. Though he missed out on the lucrative lunchtime market, the weather was nice and crisp, and a good amount of people did pass through the autumnal park. Though his showmanship was not at its best, he earned a decent sum.

He stayed there long after the show was over. It was a bit silly, but he didn't want to go home and face the flat, cold and silent with no other human in it. Instead he sat around, settling on that fateful bench where he had slept that night months and months ago, and let his worried mind take a hundred inadvisable directions.

And that's when Arthur found him. He didn't know quite how to feel about that, initially, but then he thought, to hell with it. He needed a distraction. And now, as he was walking across the grass of the park, Arthur following, looking confused and wary, as if he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, let alone why, a diverting idea formed in Merlin's mind.

"You don't _believe_ in magic," he stated calmly.

"No," confirmed Arthur.

They had arrived by the shore of the artificial lake that dominated the western edge of the park. There was a fountain in the middle, but it was switched off. For as long as Merlin had lived in the area, he'd never seen those stone koi fish actually spit water the way they were made to.

"And you're not a religious man either, are you?" he continued, stepping onto the small stone plateau that circled the lake. It was quite deep, so you'd imagine the security would be heavier, but nobody had been stupid enough to drown in the lake yet, so the old two foot tall wall had yet to be challenged.

"No. What are you-?"

"Pity," Merlin said as he put a foot down on the water, "This could have been quite funny."

He took a few steps onto the surface before he turned. His smile came surprisingly easy.

"You coming?"

Arthur looked, to put it mildly, skeptical.

"What the Hell-?"

His voice trailed away, and instead of following Merlin, he knelt down by the water and put his hand in it. When he was satisfied that the water was real, it deepened only a few inches from the edge, and there was nothing underneath the surface for Merlin to stand on, his face became a window into rapidly moving thoughts, trying to figure out what exactly was going on. It was quite entertaining to watch his confusion, but eventually Merlin grew impatient.

"Come _on_," he said, returning to the edge of the water and dragging Arthur onto the lake. If Arthur had resisted at all, it wouldn't have worked, but luckily he was still too baffled for any sort of action. Once Merlin had let him go, he stared at his own feet for several long seconds before moving them tentatively.

"This is really weird," he mumbled.

"If you still think I'm just performing tricks, you have to admit this one is pretty impressive."

"All your tricks are impressive," Arthur said, sounding petulantly annoyed. He crouched down, with some difficulty, to touch the water again.

"It's still water. It doesn't feel like water under my feet."

"What does it feel like, then?"

A brief moment of silence.

"Magic."

"Bingo."

"But that's not possible."

"This is not possible, then," Merlin pointed out, taking a few demonstrative steps further out on the water. Arthur followed, gingerly, obviously having trouble keeping his balance on the unfamiliar surface.

"_You're_ not possible," he grumbled.

Merlin laughed. Then he had to reach out and grab a hold of Arthur, who was flailing and falling backwards. Before the stockier man had time to yelp, Merlin's arms were holding him upright in a pragmatic embrace. He seemed a tad embarrassed and stepped back hurriedly, breaking the contact and narrowly avoiding another fall. The moment was slightly torturous to Merlin. it was so easy for him to slip into a relaxed and carefree mindset around Arthur, teasing him and enjoying himself, and it was uncomfortable to be reminded of how far he actually was from what he _really_ wanted. There was a line that he wanted so to overstep, but though he had made progress, and no-one was yelling or threatening to press charges against anyone anymore, there was still a long way to go.

For now, those thoughts were doing nothing to save his fragile good mood, so he decided to focus less on his unrequited love, and more on the task at hand: teaching the object of his affections to walk on water without falling over every five seconds. It certainly was a hilarious sight. The tutoring went without much incident, apart from one very close call when Arthur slipped and nearly headbutted one of the fountain fishes, his face at high velocity stopping an inch from the granite koi when Merlin grabbed his shirt. From then on, they kept their distance to the edges of the pool. Arthur seemed less and less astonished at discovering, at last, that the explanation he'd dismissed as ridiculous was demonstrably true. Now, he was busy mastering the skill of water-walking, prompting Merlin to compare him to Bambi on the ice, which earned him a curious look.

"What? Have you got a problem with Bambi? Bad experience with a deer when you were little? Are you going to be all traumatic now? I _knew_ I should have gotten Freya to ransack your past before I tried to… Make friends."

"That's a little bit creepy now that I know it's possible. No problems with Bambi, quite the contrary. It used to be my favourite film as a kid. I just realised I haven't remembered that it exists for years and years."

"It doesn't fit in your banker life?"

"No, it - It doesn't." he didn't look particularly content with this conclusion, and added, "Not a lot of things do."

"That's what you tell yourself."

By the time Merlin challenged Arthur to race him back to the grass, all Bambi-like tendencies were gone, and Merlin found himself losing until Arthur was very near the edge, when the magician pulled a dirty trick and let the other man sink until the water reached his knees. The yelp of rage and alarm was incredibly satisfying, and once Merlin was on the grass, he turned and laughed as he let Arthur loose. Arthur didn't waste any time heaving himself onto safe ground, and promptly tackled Merlin, which he hadn't seen coming, the laugh getting knocked out of him with an "oomph." A very uneven wrestling match ensued, which ended with Merlin pleading for mercy and both of them lying side by side giggling like idiots.

"You're so mean," Merlin said, out of breath and grinning, "This is how you repay me for saving your life? That fish would have been your undoing if it weren't for me!"

"That fish would have been no threat if it weren't for you," Arthur pointed out, returning the grin, then throwing his head back and laughing freely and gloriously. Merlin watched him appreciatively.

"You're laughing far too much about that," he announced with a huff, "What's so funny?"

"I'm a grown man," Arthur said finally, "I'll be thirty in a couple of years. I've got a great education and a respectable job in the city, I'm - I'm wearing a _suit_, for god's sake! And here I am, long after sundown, running around the park wrestling a _wizard_ or whatever the fuck you are, talking about threatening fish, and _Bambi_, and…" he leaned back into the ground, closing his eyes contently, "It's just not normal."

Merlin was of course still studying his face, transfixed. Relaxing happily like this, that was definitely his favourite Arthur yet.

"Yes," Merlin said before the silence lasted long enough to alert Arthur of his creepy staring, "Judging from this moment, one might wrongly believe that you're actually not terribly boring."

Arthur sent him a faux indignant glare.

"I am not _boring_!" he asserted, receiving a laugh in response.

"You're a banker, Arthur. That means you're either boring, or a right bastard. Or, most likely, both."

"Oh, come off it, you judgemental idiot. Banks commit all sorts of mischief, yes, but if you don't want bastard bankers, you can't just watch and complain. Become a non-bastard one, and then try to influence them. You can only change the way they operate from within."

"Aha!" Merlin grinned, rolling onto his side and resting his chin on his hand, hoping he didn't look too obviously lovestruck, "So you're a force for good, then, infiltrating the evil banks to bring about more ethics and less bastardry? My, how noble."

The tone was teasing, and Arthur nodded.

"Yes. Really, if anyone here's a bastard, it's you. Look at this," he gestured to his legs, "I'm soaked."

"Well, that's easily fixed," Merlin said. He placed a hand on Arthur's knee and dried his legs off with magic. He felt Arthur tense beside him as the touch lingered a bit longer than it should, and withdrew his hand as if he had been burned. He'd forgotten where the line went. Again. It was silent for a moment after that, Merlin retreating after going too far, and Arthur thinking… Well, god knew what he was thinking. When he finally spoke, his tone was slightly stiff, less humorous and harder to read.

"It's late. The underground closes soon." he sat up and paused, as if considering something. Then he snapped out of it. "Yes. Yeah, so, I have to go. I'll… See you at your show sometime, I guess?"

Merlin opened his mouth, but couldn't really think of anything to say, so he closed it and nodded. They both got up, and Arthur walked away. Before he was entirely out of earshot, Merlin called after him.

"You should come over to our place for dinner some time," he suggested.

Arthur turned and raised an eyebrow. He looked puzzled for a second, then smiled.

"Yes, perhaps I should."

Merlin nodded once, relieved.

He returned home feeling a twinge of guilt and a strong determination. He got the packet of crickets from the top of the refrigerator and tossed a few into the aquarium.

"I'm not giving up on either of them," he said out loud, well aware but not caring that he might as well be talking to a wall, "If they've no place in each other's lives, then I'll just have to _make_ places for them."


	13. Chapter 13

He was definitely not nervous. The mere notion was ridiculous. If he was checking his hair in every other reflective surface he encountered, then that was completely normal. He was a well-groomed man, after all, and it _is_ important to make a good impression. And if he wanted to make a good impression, that was because, well, he was meeting Merlin's scary flatmate today, wasn't he? It made sense to want to make a good impression on a stranger who he'd never met before. Especially when magic was real and this woman might very possibly be dangerous. It did not make sense to want to make an impression on Merlin, though. Why would he want to make an impression on _him_? For one thing, it would be pointless, he had met Merlin a sufficient number of times that his opinion on him was probably unchangeable. Not that Arthur was entirely sure what that opinion was. Not that he needed to know. Or wanted to. Or was in any way nervous about the idea of visiting him, because why would he be? He was _not_ nervous.

And if he was, it was because magic was real, god damn it, and he was walking into the lion's den without knowing the first thing about it.

Magic. Real magic. It was a disappointingly simple explanation - actually, it should make Merlin less interesting now that all the mysteries were solved with that short one-word answer, but Arthur felt both confused and intrigued. Merlin could make things, _creatures_ even, our of thin air. He could conjure and modify, the whole world was his playground. He could walk on water, he had made Arthur _walk on water_. Arthur's head still reeled a bit when he thought of it. Watching The Great Emrys's shows was fascinating now in a different way - it had lost the thrill of looking for an explanation, but he found himself appreciating the sheer miracle, and Merlin's skill, because surely that sort of magical showmanship couldn't be wide spread. People would know, wouldn't they? Maybe not. He wasn't sure anymore. It was as if the world was tilting, slowly, but surely enough that he knew the tilt was out of his control and before he knew it, everything would be upside down.

He and Gwaine continued going to see Merlin's shows. Arthur took care only to speak to Merlin, casual chats, planning of the now frighteningly impending dinner, when his colleague wasn't there. Still Gwaine found reason to confront Arthur about the magician.

"Why do you keep looking at Merlin like that?"

"Hm?"

"You keep staring at him."

"Well, he is the one putting on a magic show here, Gwaine. Did you think I'd be looking at _you_? Or Sandy, perhaps?" he'd said, gesturing towards the shapely peroxide addict who was at that point fawning over a blushing Merlin after his successful show, giving Arthur a severe urge to roll his eyes sourly. He did not particularly like Sandy, he decided.

"That's not what I mean. And I'm not going to ask how you know that woman, I expect I wouldn't want to know. My point is, even when there's fireworks and birds and all sorts of stuff going on, you're looking at him instead."

"Wh- Why are you paying attention to my gaze during the show?"

"Well, I didn't until I noticed that _he_ was kept glancing over at _you_. Is there something going on there?"

"What? No! For heaven's sake, Gwaine, you and your… Mind."

There had been a slight pause, in which they'd managed to get moving away from the park towards their building and Arthur had defiantly _not_ nodded a goodbye to Merlin, before Arthur gave in and spoke again.

"How exactly do I _look_ at him?"

"Intensely. Like you want to eat him or something."

"That's ridiculous, Gwaine. I don't eat people."

Ridiculous as it might be, that hadn't stopped Gwaine from bringing it up anew once they were sat with the rest of the little four leaf clover. He announced, without warning, that Arthur was possibly having an affair with the street-artist-who-may-or-may-not-be-a-stalker. Arthur could've keelhauled him. He'd endured Percival's raised eyebrow and ensured a scandalised Leon that Gwaine was very much mistaken, and now would they excuse him, he had decided to end his lunch break early so he was sure to get all his work done ahead of schedule, leaving him time to make ready for his _date_ with _Gwen_ - he made sure to emphasise this point - in the evening. Gwaine had had the audacity to look _disappointed_.

That was the day before, of course. And if he currently did feel more nervous about eating dinner with Merlin than he had about yesterday's date, it was _not_ under _any _circumstances because he had any sort of _attraction_ towards Merlin. That was a foolish idea that only someone like Gwaine could conjure.

Arriving at the magician's ground floor flat was how you'd expect it to be, he supposed. He knocked the door which he found hidden around the corner of a building with a slightly confusing layout, and a female voice, presumably Freya, greeted him by name and told him to come right in as it was unlocked. He wondered briefly if she'd just assumed it was him, since he had been invited, or if she had foreseen it, or maybe they had some sort of magical surveillance that told them he had arrived. That explained how they could fearlessly keep the door unlocked in this neighbourhood, too. There was no limit to the invisible protection that potentially surrounded him. He blinked a few times. Apparently, a surefire way to overactivate Arthur's imagination was to allow for the possibility that magic was real. He cleared his mind - there was, come to think of it, a distinct possibility that Freya might be able to _read_ his mind - and tried the door gingerly. It swung inwards, and led him into a small, crowded entrance hall. Merlin's suede jacket caught his eye, hanging next to a large overcoat that also seemed vaguely familiar. The floor was tiled in a rather outdated pattern, and to each side of the room, a multitude of different shoes in various state of decay were shoved. It looked as if the residents of this flat had a habit of keeping every pair out of sentimentality, even when they were undeniably in no state to be worn anymore. From what he knew of Merlin, he wouldn't put it past him. The hangers on the walls were quite crowded, too, and in between were glimpses of small watercolours, dream catchers, and other nonsensical decoration. It looked frightfully messy, but also as if everything fit into some intricate, symbiotic pattern, and he felt a little awkward invading it with his own pristine coat and polished shoes.

The tiniest of hallways stood before him, and it managed somehow to squeeze three doors and a doorless doorway into the wall space. The first one he passed was silent, from the second the spray of a shower sounded - "You're early," Freya's voice pointed out with eerie timing from the door that was slightly ajar at the end of the corridor, "Merlin's just taking a shower and I've some cooking to do still - you're welcome to make yourself comfortable in the living room!"

That would be the doorway, he presumed. He stuck his head in, and smiled. The living room was fittingly quaint - it had the same feeling as the entrance, a crowded room filled to the brim with _stuff_, but nothing seemed random, it was as if he could sense an underlying pattern. Not necessarily a plan, but a natural order - in a way it was like walking into a forest glade. It was reasonably sized, considering that they probably had a lot less money than he had for rent. A window let white-grey light shine in, but there was some other light source, which he couldn't quite identify, this one warmer, yellower. All the colours in the flat seemed warm, reds and oranges and greens. What colour was on the the living room walls was a mystery; they were hardly visible behind shelf upon shelf of books in all shapes of sizes, and more of the kind of trinkets decorating the hall. They relented only slightly to make room for another door at the other side of the room. There was an old dining table full of scrapes and ring marks, a few chairs, and the most worn out excuse for a sofa Arthur had ever seen, overloaded with pillows and accompanied by coffee tables constructed purely with books, which looked a bit hazardous. One could probably risk that sort of arrangement, though, if one had magic to solve one's problems with.

He surveyed the titles on the closest shelf. It was nothing he would ever have thought to read. He briefly inspected one, titled _Aurora Consurgens_, only to put it right back, not only because he didn't understand a thing of the ancient volume, but also because he didn't want the whole shelf to collapse in its absence, which it seemed likely to do. He felt awkward trying to lounge about, and decided to head for the kitchen to say a proper hello to Freya, who he technically hadn't been introduced to. But before he reached the kitchen, the door to the bathroom swung open.

There was nothing Arthur was better at than lying to himself, and there was nothing he hated more than being proved wrong. Especially when it proved other people, like his sister, or, say, maybe, Gwaine, right. And right now, he was mentally going through all the swear words in his quite extensive vocabulary, because that was exactly what was happening - his current situation was proving him very wrong.

The situation was that Merlin was wearing nothing but a towel and a startled expression. His hair was wet, and from one dark lock, a drop trickled down the edge of his cheek to his throat, onto his chest, and it took all of Arthur's self control to keep from obviously following its path with his eyes. He kept his gaze trained on Merlin's face. Not that that was any less distracting, as that's where his eyes and, lord have mercy, his mouth, were. And that slight reddening of his cheeks from the embarrassment, that wasn't half distracting.

"Arthur," he said, sounding surprised, and Arthur felt that same odd twitch that he'd experienced the first time Merlin said his name. Fear. Yes, _definitely_ fear.

"You're early."

"Yes. Hi," Arthur managed to respond, and he _was_ the fool in this, wasn't he. What a convenient time to reluctantly realise that maybe, just maybe, he _did_ find Merlin a very tiny bit attractive. Maybe.

There was a brief moment where they both searched for semi-appropriate words. Merlin, whose face was now lobster pink, was the first to find some.

"I… Need to get dressed," he asserted unsurely.

Arthur nodded.

"So you do."

"I. Uh. Yeah." he shrugged slightly apologetically and stole hurriedly towards the door closest to the entrance, presumably his bedroom. That thought really shouldn't make Arthur swallow heavily, but somehow…

"I'll be out in a second."

Arthur prayed he wouldn't be. He needed more time than that to get himself together. He returned to the living room and searched for alternative courses of action. Collapsing on the sofa seemed to be the most viable option, so he did that. It was very comfortable for such an old thing - all the cushions and pillows were easy to sink down into, and he found it sufficiently comforting. Until he lifted his head and found himself face to face with some eldritch creature, all spikes and scales and evil eyes.

"Jesus christ, what the _Hell_ is that?" he exclaimed and flew to his feet, stumbling back a bit, steadying himself against the table.

"Oh, that's Kilgharrah," Freya supplied from the kitchen, "He's a - "

"A bearded dragon," Arthur realised when he got his ability to put two and two together back after the initial shock.

"My sister has one," he added.

"Really?"

At this point, she appeared in the doorway. She was quite a pretty girl, with dark hair and eyes, and a vulnerable look about her, not at all fitting in with Arthur's impression of the unstable maniac who threw Merlin out of the house on a whim.

"Yes. Aithusa's an albino, though." It felt like a stupid thing to point out, but Morgana was always so insistent on that point. It seemed it was the right thing to say, because Freya looked very pleasantly surprised, and let out an excited squeak before turning her head back into the hallway.

"Merlin!" she shouted, and at her call, he came out of his room, running a hand through his hair and looking unfairly adorable.

"What?"

"Arthur's sister is Aithusa's new owner!"

"You're _joking_!" he answered, looking equally gleeful. But when he turned to Arthur, his face was worried, "Wait, are you related to Morgause?"

"Oh, good heavens no," he immediately responded, understanding the worry completely, "We share a half-sister, Morgana. Aithusa was a birthday present from Morgause."

"She takes good care of our baby, I trust?" Freya inquired.

"As far as I know, yes."

Freya nodded absently. Merlin went over to the sofa and picked up Kilgharrah. He put the beast safely inside a large aquarium that had been converted into a dragon tank, and then it was time to actually eat dinner - that was, after all, what he was invited to.

"Now you'll get to see how falafels are _supposed_ to taste," Merlin claimed smugly. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Of course, the purpose of all this is to prove a point. I should've known."

Merlin winked, and Arthur didn't quite know what to do with his face.

"Isn't falafel mostly street food, anyway?" he said, electing to address the general direction of the kitchen, where Freya was, instead.

"Sort of," Freya conceded, carrying in plates which both men immediately jumped to help out with, "But one of my favourite foster mums taught me an old family recipe that truly surpasses anything else."

The falafel lived up to description; he had to admit it was a very nice meal. The conversation flowed, if a bit superficially. Arthur was quite distracted throughout, sneaking glances at Merlin like a teenager. His emotional centre was making up for his denseness and denial prior to his unfortunately timed, nudity-fuelled epiphany. He tried telling himself that it wasn't that bad. He knew he wasn't entirely straight, after all, so of course it was perfectly fine to appreciate the sight of a half-naked man. He was man enough to admit that Merlin was an attractive bloke, and that didn't in any way mean he was entirely lost. Just because he _found_ Merlin attractive, it didn't mean he was significantly _attracted_ to him. His current confusion was just from the surprise, because he hadn't _thought _of Merlin that way and the idea unnerved him. They could still be… Friends, or whatever they were, without complications. Nothing permanent was changed in his view of…

Then he braved a look at Merlin, who had a smear of hummus by the corner of his mouth, the sloppy eater. And his heart sank. No, there was no recovering from this. Blast. He had a girlfriend, for fuck's sake. Well, sort of - he and Gwen had gone on a few dates, but not much had happened yet. They were taking things slow. Nevertheless, if he'd felt like this around her, all nervous and weak at the knees, he'd be fine. He didn't, though, and feeling that way about Merlin was cause for genuine panic. He was damned if he was going to show it, though, so he put on a brave front and pointed the hummus out to Merlin in as snarky a tone he could, making Merlin grumble and Freya laugh, and allowing himself to smirk.

"So," said Freya with a wicked grin, setting down her wineglass, "Arthur. Would you like me to read your fortune?"

"Freya," said Merlin in a warning tone.

"No, that sounds like a great idea!" Arthur insisted. He hadn't had nearly enough to drink, but enough to allow him to be enthusiastic about trying new things. Besides, real magic. Real fortune telling. The thought was compelling. Merlin didn't look entirely happy about the idea, but Arthur was significantly miffed with him for being so alluring all of a sudden, when he really had no business being alluring, and so he spitefully persisted.

"Nothing to worry about, Merlin, I'm just going to find out who he really is. Besides, he agrees," Freya said and her flatmate yielded, though he still looked as if there was a great deal to worry about. Then she put her hand over Arthur's, and things got decidedly strange. It was an odd feeling, as if he could see things, but he couldn't fully grasp them. There were images flashing through his head, memories, but everything was moving too fast to follow, and he couldn't control them, even though they were his own thoughts.

"You are a strong man, Arthur Pendragon," said Freya's voice, and he realised he couldn't see her anymore, and he was unsure whether his eyes were open or closed. That was decidedly weird.

"A strong man… Who will not necessarily suffer weakness. And…" her voice turned apprehensive and acidic. "You have a history of carelessly hurting people. You may be trying to pay it back, but the fact remains, you're quick to trample those who are less fortunate, those who you consider below you."

He frowned, and wanted to protest, to say that that wasn't true. Any sort of oppressor was far from who he was, but one of the memories that flashed before his eyes widened, and he saw, clear as day, a grassy hill by a road, he heard laughter, childish, innocent… No, malicious. He felt a synthetic fabric under his hands, and then -

He broke contact with her hand and rose abruptly, instantly sober but rattled, he stepped back, knocking his chair over.

"I think," he said, but stopped, startled by the loud ring of his voice in the room.

"I think it's time I left," he said, at a more reasonable volume. He nodded an unsteady goodbye at them both before returning to the hallway. He heard Merlin calling his name and knew he would be followed. Sure enough, he was intercepted by the door.

"Arthur, I am so sorry, I shouldn't have let her do that."

"I don't blame you, you did say," Arthur said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. He was shaking a little after the weird and in no way pleasant experience of having his past read. He'd made the mistake of thinking she would aim for the future, though perhaps the concept of "fortune" was broader than he'd considered.

"Come back in?"

He had to smile at the how hopeful Merlin sounded.

"I think I need some air now, to be honest. It's been a lovely evening," he hastened to add, "Really, I mean it, the food was great, and the company also. Thank you for inviting me. But I do think I should go. It's quite late as well."

He motioned at the darkness outside the window.

"Alright," said Merlin, still sounding skeptical, "But are you sure you're okay? Look, I'm really, really sorry - "

"I'm fine, Merlin," he said, and squeezed Merlin's arm, which he had at some point taken hold of without realising.

"You don't have to keep apologising."

Merlin smiled tentatively in return, and Arthur felt his heart ache a little as he smiled back.

"I'll see you Tuesday," he promised as he stepped out of the door.

"Tuesday," echoed Merlin, his mouth twisting into a grin, helping the world feel a little more familiar, a little more like home.

Then the door closed, and Arthur weaved his way back around the architectural peculiarity that he'd been visiting. He really did have quite a lot of thinking to do on the way.


End file.
